Erebor Reclaimed, Book Three: The Quest of Seven
by BlueRiverSteel
Summary: Kíli is confined to Erebor in the aftermath of the journey from Ered Luin, training with the other members of the Oath of Belhel to use their power to the fullest. Fíli prepares Erebor for Melkor's imminent attack; while Ryn must make her way to Fjallstadr in search of the legendary Starstone, which may be Kíli's only hope to resist The Dark Vala's influence...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Welcome, everyone, to the third and final installment of the Erebor Reclaimed Series! If you haven't read the first two tales, _When Comes the Dawn_ and _Inikhdê_, it's recommended that you do so as this one won't make much sense without it—both stories can be found on my profile.

For those of you coming over from _Inikhdê_, welcome back; and thank you so much for sticking with me through this whole series! This story promises some fascinating twists and even more new lore; I'm really excited to share it with all of you. You guys have been fantastic, making even the rough spots—and there've been a few over the past nine months—worth it in the end.

Special thanks, as always, to _summerald_ and _Cassandrala_ for being my awesome writing buddies and helping with proofreading! Both ladies have awesome stories in progress on their profiles—you should really go look them up, it's totally worth your time! Extra shout-outs to _KungFuSchildi_, _drwatsonn_, _Celebrisilweth_, _Eruwaedhiel95_, _ . .Fireplace_, _miller330_, _VioletBrock_, and_ Nocturnal-Silver-Wolf_ for being regular reviewers. Love you guys!

Without further ado—enjoy!

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><p>Ryn drove her sword into an orc's belly mercilessly, crying out in pain and rage as another one stabbed her in the side with a doubtless-filthy dagger. She heard Talos call her name, but couldn't spare a second to be sure he was all right; instead, she whirled around and took the orc's head clean off its misshapen shoulders. Glancing to where her brother had been only moments ago, she was pleased to see him laying into their enemies with his pair of battleaxes, his chestnut hair flying, standing over their companion protectively.<p>

Said companion was no warrior, Ryn knew; the Human lad had no feel for battle at all, and that was even after she'd spent a frustrating number of hours trying to teach him the most basic defensive moves. Elof just wasn't built for it, physically or mentally, though she refused to give up—if he was going to travel, he needed to know how to defend himself.

Those were skills he was currently putting to use, she noted with no small amount of pride, letting Talos cover his back and sides while he dodged and parried a few thrusts from one of the smaller orcs in front of him.

Ryn gasped in relief as she pulled some energy from a nearby tree to heal the stab wound in her side. These days, a simple heal like that took a matter of seconds; and it was a good thing, too, as another wave of orcs—these ones bigger and meaner-looking—appeared behind Talos. Elof's blue eyes widened just as Ryn found her voice:

"Talos! At your back!"

Her brother didn't lose a beat; he spun on his dominant foot, shoving Elof behind him as he did. Elof stumbled; and Ryn sped the five or six paces to where her comrades stood, positioning herself at Talos' back, the lad between them.

"Come on!" Talos hollered at the oncoming horde. "Bring your pretty faces to my axe!" Ryn was busy counting—there were about twenty of them, nothing she couldn't handle with a bit of magic—but spared an eye roll at her brother's brazen cheek; he'd been spending too much time with Kíli's cousin, Gimli. They both quite enjoyed their snark in the midst of battle.

The group drew nearer as Ryn fell into her Magic, identifying and getting a good grip on the sickly-brown energies of the creatures pounding over the forest floor in their direction.

"Any time now," Elof muttered nervously.

With a small grin, Ryn _yanked_ hard at the energies, absorbing the warm energy into her own body. The orcs tripped over themselves and each other, stumbling as their life force was drained swiftly, leaving all twenty of them dead in a haphazard pile of bodies and armor, barely five feet from the small band of travelers.

"_Rukhsul_," Talos commented flippantly. "You were supposed to leave me a few, _namad_."

Ryn sent a mock-annoyed smirk his way and crossed to the orcs. "Search them," she ordered. "There might be something we can use." She pulled on her pair of leather gloves, internally moaning that she'd have to clean them thoroughly again after touching those disgusting creatures with them.

"You're getting better at that," Elof noted, pulling something slimy and brown from the armor vest of a nearby orc. He made a horrified face and tossed whatever it was aside.

Ryn was fairly sure she didn't want to know.

"Your help has been invaluable," she answered, looking curiously at a piece of rough animal skin sporting odd charcoal markings. It looked like it might be some kind of writing, though she'd never seen the like of it before. "Can you Read languages other than Orð, Elof?"

"A couple; mostly only ancient languages," he answered, distracted by retrieving one of Ryn's throwing knives that had found its way into an orc skull. "Why?"

"This," she straightened, holding out the scrap of skin. Elof crossed to her and took it, his brow furrowing as he looked at it in the waning moonlight.

It would be morning soon, Ryn noted dispassionately. The orc ambush had come in the wee hours of the morning, when, she guessed, the orcs thought the Watch would be least alert.

Apparently, none of the orcs had ever travelled with a dwarf. Talos had been far from sluggish and had spotted them long before they anticipated.

Fortunate, for her tiny party.

Her attention was brought back harshly to Elof when he made a disgusted sound and dropped the animal skin. "What?" she asked, alarmed.

"It's Black Speech," he shuddered in response.

Ryn resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Black Speech was rather harsh and guttural, it was true; but it didn't deserve half the terror it was often met with. "So can you read it?"

Elof shook his head. "Never had the courage—or the necessity—to learn it."

Ryn cocked an eyebrow, and the lad tensed defensively. "Language holds power, Ryn. A magic all its own—and the language of Mordor isn't just a collection of sounds and words like Common. It's….it's more like Orð. Orð is a healing language; Black Speech a destroying language. It's difficult to stomach."

Still skeptical, Ryn kept her eyebrow cocked, but looked down, going back to the task of finding something useful to them. "Well, since I doubt it's a letter from home," she guessed. "It's likely some sort of missive. Like a mission brief or something."

"Which could mean this was a deliberate attack rather than a random raid," Talos put in, crossing to her with a couple of dirty—but serviceable—blades. "Here," he handed her one, and Ryn nodded her thanks.

"It could," Elof added thoughtfully. Then he made a face. "That's not terrifying at all."

"It's not so bad," Ryn answered. "If we knew what they were—"

She was cut off by a brutal pain exploding in her shoulder. Vaguely, she heard someone shout her name, also interrupted with a pained gasp.

_Talos_.

She didn't get the chance to feel the terror she knew was welling in her chest though; she felt her knees hit the forest floor, black spots dancing across her vision.

_Poisoned arrow_, she realized faintly. _Wonderful_.

It was the last coherent thought she had.

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><p><em>One of the few things in the massive underground city of Erebor that had not been entirely destroyed by the Dragon Smaug's seventy-year residency there had been the Library. The room, while massive, was contained by thick walls and only accessible via several halls that were far too small for the dragon's bulk. The combination of that and Smaug's utter disregard for such things as scrolls and parchments meant the Library had survived with only minimal damage.<em>

_Since becoming King Under the Mountain, Fíli, Son of Dis, had taken the Library on as a personal project; he had scrolls and documents and books of all sorts being delivered from all over Arda; the finest craftsmen working on restoring the old chamber to its former glory; and carpenters from nearby Dale building sturdy shelves to house the new works being delivered to the Mountain nearly every day._

_It was this room that had quickly become one of Ryn's favorites; the rich velvet cushions and roaring fireplace made a comfortable place to read, and the place always smelled of parchment and ink._

_This evening, she was curled up on the thick bearskin rug, poring over an Eiri treatise on Rare and Curious (Master Asmund's words, not hers) Ailments, hoping there might be something about morgul poison in it. Translating Orð into Common was still a bit of a struggle for the lass, even after two months of doing nearly nothing but reading it; but Elof was much quicker and able to help anytime she got stuck._

_He was sitting nearby at the moment, long legs draped over the arm of his plush chair, blue eyes focused on the page before him and black hair falling all askew over his forehead. The Human lad's short crop of hair, lack of beard and much-taller figure made him something of an oddity in Erebor, but most folks had long since stopped chattering about it when it became common knowledge he was assisting the Eiri lass with saving their Prince from a fate worse than death at the hands of the evil Vala, Melkor. His born role as an Eiri Reader meant Elof could translate anything and decode ancient secrets long kept._

_He sighed from his chair, and Ryn looked up. "Find anything?"_

_Elof shook his head, rubbing his eyes hard. "No, sorry. And my head is aching something fierce."_

_Ryn nodded. "We've been at it since midday; we should call it a night. But I ran across something I can't really read, mind helping me with it before we stop?"_

_"Sure," the lad slid off the chair and flopped onto his belly beside the soon-to-be Princess, looking at the swirling runes she pointed to._

_"This one. It says 'stinann sal heilbredae alea,' which I think loosely translates to 'the stone that heals all.' Is there any…"_

_Ryn stopped at the look on Elof's face. He snatched the book from her, eyes wide and jaw slack._

_"What?" she asked, heart beating a little faster._

_"The Umräd," Elof whispered. "Valar, Ryn, you've found a reference to the Umräd."_

_"What is that?"_

_"The Starstone," the lad answered. "It is said to have the ability to purge all darkness from a being. It was fashioned by Estë herself, from the light of the First Star; it is the most powerful of all the Healing Stones."_

_Ryn nodded, struggling to keep up. Elof had told her of the Healing Stones—ten gems, hidden by the Ancient Healers before the demise of their race, that had once been used regularly to heal all manner of ailments._

_"Where is it?" she asked, dreading the answer._

_"Hidden," Elof answered. "Like all the others. But it so happens I know exactly where."_

_Eyes wide, Ryn waited. Elof grinned._

_"It's in Fjallstadr, protected inside the Vault. Fárbjóðr had tasked me with opening the thing, but I always told him I couldn't figure out how."_

_"But you could," Ryn gaped at the young man._

_"I can," he smiled._

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><p><em>Rukhsul—<em>Khuzdul, lit. "Orc dung"

_Namad_—Khuzdul, "sister"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Happy Tuesday, dear readers! Some of you have already noted I'm taking a bit of a different approach with this part of our tale—nice catch! One of my favorite things about writing is that, like all forms of art, it is highly individualized; and beyond that, it's unique not only to the individual, but also to their frame of mind at the time they're writing. All that to say, this is a bolder approach than I've ever taken on a storyline; but then, I'm a bolder person than I was nine months ago when all this started. :D

Special thanks to _summerald_ for everything she does for me—she is a fast friend and an inspiring writer—and I hope you all enjoy the next chapter!

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><p>Fíli, Son of Dis, King Under the Mountain, was fairly certain it had been a very long time since he had been in this sort of position. He gasped for air, flat on his back, the weight of his opponent resting on his chest, unyielding. A thick, sharp axe blade rested on his collarbone and black spots danced before his eyes.<p>

"Surrender, cur," a feminine voice commanded, the blade pressing into his neck a bit.

"_Never_," the King growled, fingers curling around the hilt of his own sword that had fallen when he did. Swiftly, he brought the heavy steel blade up and toward his opponent's neck, intending to sever the creature's head from its shoulders in one powerful sweep.

He hadn't counted on her smaller size and lesser weight being an advantage. His opponent ducked, shifting her weight forward, which pressed the axe even further into his neck; even as she threw one hand up, blocking his swing in a painful chop against the sensitive underside of his wrist. With impossible speed, she gripped his arm and twisted.

His sword hit the stone with a clang.

"_Yield_," she commanded again, a smile pulling at her lips.

Fíli cursed, beaten. "I yield," he stuck his tongue out, for good measure, and the blade was removed from his neck.

Anora laughed as she stood, holding out a hand to assist him. Fíli glowered, taking the proffered boost and yanking hard. Anora fell forward with a little screech, landing on the thick bearskin mat hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Fíli followed up, grabbing his short sword and straddling the warrioress, steel blade centimeters from her neck.

With a playful grin, he crowed in delight. "I have won, foul adversary! Surrender now and I will spare your life!"

Anora giggled. "Never, you villain! You'll have to kill me!"

Fíli laughed outright at that, backing off and helping his friend to her feet. "Well fought, Anora; no one has so roundly defeated me in a long time."

She shook her mane of red hair loose from its braid, grinning. "I had plenty of time to practice while hiding from suitors back home."

Fíli snorted. "I can imagine so." He handed off his swords to a page and offered Anora an arm with an exaggerated bow. She took it with an equally-exaggerated nose in the air, and they began walking back toward the guard mess hall, where they would eat, as was their wont on training days.

"So none of them struck your fancy at _all_?" he asked, referring to the suitors her father had considered during his absence. Anora shook her head.

"Erek was all money and no brains, Jut too full of himself, and Karfac was simply a greasy, leering git. Imbeciles, the lot of them."

"Then why would your father want you to marry them?" Fíli asked, perplexed. He had known Tefur since he was a child; the man had some very different ideas than the sons of Durin, but Fíli had always attributed that simply to the fact that he was from the Iron Hills, and society was very different there.

But Tefur was kind, intelligent, and loved his daughters fiercely. Fíli had a hard time imagining the man wanting vivacious, brilliant Anora caught in an unhappy marriage.

His childhood playmate sighed. "They had _money_, Fíli. Money and connections. That's why lasses are married off in the Iron Hills. It's all political."

Fíli sighed, aware of the Iron Hills' strange marital customs. "What about your Ones?"

"If you're extremely lucky," Anora answered, "your One will be rich and well-connected. If not, well…" she shrugged. "I determined a long time ago I'd end up in a loveless marriage. I would've taken a vow of celibacy altogether to avoid it; except Sêla cannot marry until I do, and I can't do that to her. She has a chance to find her One, maybe even a greater chance here in Erebor; and I would _never_ take that from her."

Fíli had heard of such rules, that the younger could not marry before the elder in the Iron Hills—and some other dwarven communities as well—but had never suspected Tefur clung to those ideals while living under the rule of the Sons of Durin.

"Damn," he muttered, then eyed the lass beside him guiltily. "Sorry."

She snorted. "As if I've never heard cursing, Fíli. I grew up with you, did I not?" He laughed heartily.

"Indeed you did. So what are you going to do, then? About marriage, I mean?"

Anora grinned. "Well my parents currently have their eye set on a very specific dwarf for me, and are shoving me at him almost constantly."

_Huh_. "But you do not love him?" Fíli asked.

"On the contrary," she answered. "I love him quite dearly, just not in the way I would love a husband." She shrugged. "Besides, it is the very same lad Sêla is quite in love with; and while I will gladly marry one I do not love to open the way for my sister to find happiness, I'll not marry _her_ One."

Fíli pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the tug in his chest at the mention of Sêla loving some unknown lad. "Sounds like a pretty kettle of fish, Anora."

Her hazel eyes clouded, all traces of amusement gone. "It is."

"So what are you going to do?"

Anora stopped, looked at him. "I'm not sure yet. All I know is I'll not be marrying the lad."

Fíli nodded, squeezing her against his side in a quick one-armed hug. "If there's anything I can do, you let me know, hear?"

He looked over in time to catch his friend roll her eyes.

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><p>Ryn groaned as she teetered on the edge of consciousness, fighting back the dark that beckoned behind her eyelids temptingly.<p>

_Mahal_, her entire right side hurt.

As she fought her way to wakefulness, she heard the crackling of a fire and realized she was lying on her belly, warm and mostly-comfortable. It was an odd contrast to the lingering sense of danger that lurked in the corners of her mind. Forcing her eyes open, Ryn blinked against the bright sun that filtered through the trees—sunrise or sunset? She couldn't tell.

"Welcome back," a young, familiar voice greeted her. She turned her head, wincing against the pain, just enough to see her brother sitting beside the fire, roasting something on a spit. It smelled delightful, but Ryn's stomach couldn't seem to decide if it was hungry or disgusted, turning over in a most uncomfortable manner. She groaned.

"Thanks. What happened?"

"You took a poisoned arrow to the shoulder." Talos said it casually, but his voice caught a bit, and she felt her heart hitch. "I patched you up, and your body took care of the rest."

"How long?" she asked.

"Almost two days. The attack happened yesterday morning, and the sun is setting now," he answered, coming over and peeling away the bandages on her back. Ryn gasped in agony as his fingers brushed her skin. "How do you feel?"

"It hurts," she answered through gritted teeth. "Where did the arrow come from? We beat the last wave of those things…"

"We _thought_ we did," Talos answered, probing gently at her shoulder. "There were more."

"_Rukhsul_." Ryn struggled to turn over and see her brother, locate Elof and assess his state, moaning in pain. "Are you all right? Elof?"

"I'm fine," Talos hastened to assure her, pushing her down gently. "Stay still."

He hadn't answered her question, the fact didn't pass Ryn's notice. "Talos, where's Elof?"

Silence.

"_Where is he_?" she asked again, panic seizing her heart. She had grown pretty fond of the lad; not to mention their mission was doomed to failure without him….

"He was taken," Talos answered, softly. "I tried to stop them, Ryn, I really did; they knocked me out before I could reach him."

Ryn closed her eyes, trying not to give in to the icy grasp of terror, deliberately breathing slowly and willing her racing heart to calm.

Elof had been captured. By orcs.

Was it a random band, or a group sent by Melkor?

Some other enemy they weren't yet aware of?

How far had they gotten?

How many were there?

Was Elof alive? Injured? Ill?

Ryn shook her head, resting her forehead on her arms. It would be all right; this wasn't the first time she'd tracked a party of orcs. A sudden grin tugged at her lips, remembering the Quest, when she'd deliberately misled an entire war party of orcs; sending them on a trail that led to absolutely nothing while she and the other dwarves made it to the relative safety of the High Pass….

"It is all right, _nadadith_," she lifted her head and looked at her younger brother, who was looking ashamed as he picked the meat off the spit, placing some on a tin plate for her. "We'll just have to find him." She pushed with her arms, attempting to get her knees under her and breathing slowly through the agony that shot through her shoulder and back.

"Ryn, wait—" Talos started, but she glared hard at him.

"They have too much of a lead already," she interrupted. She was on her hands and knees now; and she sat back on her heels, letting the dizziness from the pain pass before she attempted to stand. "Give me a moment, and I'll be able to heal whatever is left of the damage to my shoulder, then I'm going to look you over as well." She put up a finger before Talos could open his mouth to protest. "No arguments. Aside from the fact I'm not letting you suffer when it's entirely unnecessary; I also _need_ you fresh and healthy. This is going to be a rigorous chase, brother."

Talos said nothing to that, just saluted her with his venison and began banking the fire. Ryn was grateful, and closed her eyes, reaching for the life force of the surrounding vegetation. With a moment's concentration, she was able to glean enough from the forest to heal herself without damaging any of the plants. The pain disappeared, her pounding head calmed, and she felt as though she'd just awakened from a lovely night's sleep.

Ryn smiled and turned her attention to her brother, using her Sense to assess his condition. True to his word, he was well; she used a small amount of magic to soothe the lingering ache in his head from the mild concussion he'd received. Her brother sighed in relief, turning to look at her.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Ryn's grin turned feral. "Ready?" Talos responded by hefting his axes and nodding.

"Let's hunt some orc."

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><p>"<em>It did not strike you as strange?"<em>

_The question gave Kíli pause, helped him understand why his Intended seemed so very frightened of him right now. He tilted his head, brown eyes meeting her green ones._

"_No," he answered. "It did not strike me as strange that I could sense when you were in trouble. Ryn…Eiri or not, half dwarf or not, we love one another deeply. I can often sense when Fíli is hurting or in a bad situation…it's more intuition than anything. Not quite as physical as what you're telling me we now have; but not much different."_

_Ryn was staring at him, wide-eyed. "You're not angry?"_

_Kíli shook his head, moving closer to her and brushing his fingertips over the soft skin of her neck. She didn't quite succeed in suppressing a shiver, and he smiled._

"_No, my love. I'm not angry."_

_The sigh of relief that escaped her before she could stop it would have put a halt to any rage Kíli had felt, if he had felt any. His poor lass had clearly been worried sick about this._

"_Ryn, have I ever given you any need to fear me?" he wondered aloud. She shook her head._

"_No, of course not. But I have…made so many mistakes, with this, with _us_," she gestured between them, eyes wide and searching Kili's own. "I meant to tell you all about the Love-Bind before we ever initiated it; but things just got…out of hand that day by the creek, and then everything sort of fell apart after that—"_

_Kíli cut her off with a tender kiss. She responded with a whimper that made his breath hitch, and he pulled her close._

"_I'll tell you what I do want," he murmured in her ear, nibbling the lobe and chuckling when she shuddered in response._

"_What's that?"_

"_I'd really like to explore this connection, now that I know it's there." He pressed his lips to hers firmly, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her flush against him—a move guaranteed to make her knees go weak. Sure enough, in addition to his own jolt of arousal, he felt a faint shakiness in his legs. Splaying his hand across the small of Ryn's back, he nearly whined in ecstasy when she bit his lip and scratched his scalp. _

_She gasped, and he grinned. So it went both ways._

_Oh, this Eiri Bind was definitely one of his new favorite parts of his Beloved's slightly-different physiology. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Hello all, happy Hump Day! Hey, if any of you are Supernatural fans, I also have a SPN fic up called _The Ties That Bind_, and an accompanying set of oneshots called _Come Whatever_. Check them out if you like sibling fluff! And badassery! And crazy plot twists! You know, all that _stuff_.

Special thanks to **summerald** and **Cassandrala** for their help with this (abnormally difficult) chapter! Also, shout outs to **drwatsonn** (_I'm so sorry in advance_) and **Eternal Cosmic Sailor Saturn** (welcome to the family!)…

Enjoy!

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><p><em><strong>Fifteen Years Ago<strong>_

"_Mama, Mama!" the rumpled five-year-old appeared at the pretty woman's side, burying his dirty hands in her skirts and tugging insistently. She turned from her conversation with the baker, laughing blue eyes landing on her son. Maera shook her head._

"_Elof, you rascal. What have you gotten into, lad?" she bent down and inspected the boy's dirty hands and face, tousled black hair, and scratched elbow. He favored her with a brilliant smile._

"_Théo and me found a frog!" he exclaimed, eyes alight with excitement. "It was lumpy and brown and made funny noises!"_

_Maera nodded, wiping her son's face with her apron, pleased that he was exploring. An understanding of nature, specifically animals, was central to Rohir society; and what better way to learn of it than to experience it firsthand?_

"_Did you try to catch it?" she asked._

"_No!" Elof looked horrified at the thought, and Maera felt her heart warm. Good boy. "We followed it to its home!"_

"_And where did it live, son?" Maera frowned at Elof's elbow, spitting on her apron to clean the dirt from the wound. Elof twitched, but didn't pull away._

"_A tree stump! But then it didn't come back out, so I came to find you."_

"_So now you know that some frogs live in fallen trees," Maera summed up. "That's very good. We can tell your father all about it tonight at dinner, yes?" Elof nodded excitedly. _

"_And can we tell him about the words on the stone too?"_

_Maera took her bread and paid the baker with a warm smile. "Thank you, Master Eadric. What stone, éafora?"_

"_The one in the big square!" her young one replied, jumping about with unsuppressed energy. Maera tried to understand what the boy was talking about; the only stone in the Central Square of Edoras was an ancient memorial to the great King Eorl the Young, first ruler of Rohan. She knew what the stone said—most Rohir did—though she'd never read it. No one save the royals could, since no one else spoke or read ancient Adûnaic anymore._

"_Who told you what the Memorial says?" she asked, curious._

_Elof stopped hopping from puddle to puddle and looked up at her, tilting his head in that adorable way he did when something confused him._

"_Nobody," he answered. "I just knowed."_

"_Knew," she corrected instinctively, now supremely perplexed. "Knew," Elof repeated obediently. "I just knew."_

"_How?"_

_The boy shrugged, kicking a pebble at his feet. "Like I know the sun is warm and…like I know I love you. I just….know."_

_Maera wasn't sure how that was possible—Elof couldn't even read Common yet, much less a forgotten Language. "Show me," she ordered._

_Elof dashed ahead, as if eager to share his newfound ability with her. They reached the Square and she followed him to the large Memorial Stone, smacking Elof's fingers where they traced over the engraved letters._

"_Do not touch the Memorial, éafora. Now, what does this word say?"_

_She pointed at the word at her son's eye level—she knew from her memorization it was the word 'courageous'—and waited._

"_Brave," Elof answered. "Well, courageous. But that means brave, right?"_

_Maera blinked. How was it possible? How could he…?_

"_I can read the whole thing!" Elof exclaimed excitedly. "It says 'King Eorl the Young, the Father of our Nation, who reigned as our courageous king until his death in 2545. His memory shall never be lost.'" Elof looked up at her, eyes wide. "I remember you told me about King Eorl, Mama. He was very strong and brave and rode a mighty horse lord named Aldor!"_

_Maera nodded vaguely, still confused. "Indeed he did, my son." This mystery was a question for her husband—perhaps he would have an explanation as to why the boy was reading Adûnaic before he could read Common; so she took Elof's hand._

"_Come on, let's go home. You did very well today, perhaps we will have sweet dumplings with dinner tonight."_

_Elof began hopping again, his five-year-old energy practically limitless, and Maera held back a grin. They walked out of town together, back toward their farm just outside Edoras, her young son singing a battle-song he had recently learned from his Papa._

_She did not see the cloaked figure sitting quietly in the shadows at the edge of the Square, witnessing her interaction with her son, ice-blue eyes bright with interest. Bloodless lips curled into a smile as they left the town gates behind._

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><p>"<em>The Oath draws from the individual strengths of each of the Oath Holders; therefore, the more dwarves that participate in the Oath, the stronger the bond. The largest recorded Oath contained 147 warriors of the Line of Durin during the Great War. Its members were so powerful that not one of them died in the entirety of the War, despite being hopelessly outnumbered in the…."<em>

Kíli sighed and skimmed over the seemingly-endless paragraph, looking for more practical information on the Oath itself. He didn't care about statistics or history, really; he needed to know how to use the bond created by the Oath. He needed to know if there was a way to utilize it that he was unaware of; maybe something that could hold off Melkor, lend him some sort of inner strength he seemed to be lacking.

"Trouble finding something?" came a raspy, gruff voice behind him. Kíli tensed, startled, but relaxed when he turned to see the old and wrinkled librarian smiling at him. Master Kâf had been one of the oldsters who had accompanied them from the Blue Mountains, appointed specifically by Fíli as the Royal Tomeskeeper and Historian. He was a patient soul, fatherly in a very…_Balin_ sort of way; Kíli had appreciated his steadiness on the journey here.

"I'm surprised you even want to be near me," he half-joked. Kâf's daughter had nearly been killed by mewlips while trying to get a small group of dwarflings to safety during an attack.

The Tomeskeeper smiled wider. "Cursed blood or not, lad; it was not your sword that cut my Leifa. It was, however, your arms that carried her from the battle and your Beloved who saved her life." He placed his hand on his heart in a gesture of respect. "You forever have my loyalty, young Prince of Durin. None of this is your fault, you need to remember that."

Kíli flushed, fidgeted. "I'm not entirely sure that is true, Master Kâf."

"Well I am, and I've lived many long years more than you have." Kâf put a hand on the lad's shoulder. "I know these things." Changing the subject, Kâf continued. "Have you heard from your Bride? I heard she spirited her brother and that abnormally-tall human away on some secret mission a few weeks ago."

Kíli stifled a laugh at the description of Ryn's motley band, but sobered at the actual answer. "I have heard only that they are travelling as quickly as they can. The weather has been favorable toward their mission, which is helpful; but they're likely to be gone for another several weeks at least."

_Mahal_, he missed his lass.

Kâf seemed to understand that much without Kíli saying a word about it, because he slapped the young Prince on the shoulder. "She is strong, lad. And so are her companions. Well—" he amended himself. "Her brother is strong, the human is smart. They'll be all right."

Kíli nodded.

"But that's not why you're here, is it?" Kâf winked. "What can I help you find, my Prince?"

"Do you know anything about the Oath of Belhel?" he asked after a moment. They had kept the Oath under wraps as much as possible, but what had he to lose at this point? Most everyone knew of his curse, and though it was less well-known, many were aware of his bond with the six others who had sworn to protect him until Melkor's plans for him were derailed completely.

Kâf smiled knowingly. "You mean what do I know that's not already in that massive tome you're looking at?"

Kíli cocked a grin. "Yes, that."

"Well," the old dwarf made himself comfortable beside the Prince. "Here's what I do know…"

* * *

><p>Ryn had had to track some rather difficult characters in her life. During her time with the Rangers, she'd learned to trail creatures ranging from hares to elves. Every bent leaf, broken twig, impression in wet dirt or sand was an indication, and she knew how to read the story of a being's route regardless of how good they were at forestcraft. Some of the best elves could outsmart her during at the end of her training, but even her best friend and toughest critic Aran had acknowledged her talent at tracking.<p>

Which was why hunting this pack of orcs—Ryn guessed there were about a dozen of them—was shamefully easy. They left filth and death wherever they went, not even attempting to hide their trail.

_Their mistake._

Talos kept up with his sister easily, falling into a guard role while she focused completely on tracking—she'd never admit it, but it made her job that much easier, not having to concentrate on everything at once.

Even still, it took the dwarves three days to get the orc pack in their sights. It was coming up on sunset the third day when Talos spotted the smoke from their camp just to the northwest, headed toward the distant Misty Mountains.

"Oh no you don't," Ryn muttered to herself, fingering _Naryaturë's _hilt distractedly. Then she turned to Talos. "We're too far for me to use my magic just yet. The pack will be moving at dusk, are you good to keep up with them overnight?"

Both siblings were exhausted, having been adhering to a strict hunt for twenty hours, sleep for four schedule. Talos nodded, but his slight hesitation wasn't lost on Ryn; she transferred enough energy from a nearby oak to keep him alert and running until the next morning. Talos shivered as she completed the transfer. "I'll never get used to that," he grumbled.

Ryn smiled. "As soon as they settle down in the morning, I'll take out the orcs using my power from the cover of the trees. Then we nab Elof and make for the Anduin. The elves of Lorien will assist us if necessary."

"Ryn, the Anduin is five days' journey from here, and that's on horseback," Talos countered. "Dol Guldur practically stands between us and the river!"

"We can maintain this pace for a few more days until we reach safety," Ryn answered. "We will make it."

Talos didn't seem convinced, but said nothing. Ryn took a moment to fill her own reserves of energy, then shook off the dizzy feeling it left behind and motioned for Talos to follow her.

The orcs ran through the night, and the siblings were hard-pressed to maintain their position; but neither of them were about to lose Elof to these monsters.

And so they ran too.

The orcs made camp just before dawn, in a small copse of trees on the very southern border of Mirkwood. Ryn and Talos climbed a massive oak and rested in its thick branches.

Ryn fell into her Magic while Talos caught his breath, searching for the energies she would need to steal—orcs were dark and dirty, slimy, like rotting things. Ryn tried to isolate Elof's scarlet aura, but couldn't seem to find it.

Ryn blinked, confused, and tried again. There were twelve nasty orcs, she could sense every one of their repugnant auras; there were the trees, green and vibrant; a little rabbit burrowing as far from the monsters outside as possible; there was Talos' brilliant silver, pulsing with life and energy…

But no crimson human auras.

_No._

Tears stung her eyes—the only reason Elof's energy would not be with the orcs would be…if they…if he…_no_.

The word resonated in her head like the clang of an anvil.

_Dead._

* * *

><p><em>Éafora-<em>"son"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Good morning! Tried to get this up yesterday, but my day just got away from me, so you get it first thing this morning instead.

Special thanks to **summerald** and **Cassandrala** for being awesome writing buddies! Shout outs also to **Eruwaedhiel95** (happy to see you over here! Hope the story meets your expectations!) and **drwatsonn** (told you I was sorry….but maybe this chapter will make up for it a little?) for their awesome reviews! You guys rock!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>No. It's not possible.<em>

"What, Ryn?" Talos' voice came to her from far away, it seemed.

_It can't be._

A hand on her shoulder, shaking firmly. Her gaze snapped back to her brother, wide and searching. "Ryn!" he hissed. "What's the problem?"

"Elof," she whispered, stifling the panic that clawed through her chest. "I can't find him among them."

Talos blinked. "What?"

She nodded. "I should be able to isolate his aura, so I don't accidentally kill him along with them; but he's not there. The only way…I can't…Talos, they must have—"

Her brother shushed her. "No, there's got to be another explanation. We _need_ him."

"I know," she breathed deeply, letting her fear transmute into rage, hot and bitter. It curled in her chest; demanding movement, action, the compulsion to do _something_.

"Rye?" Talos gripped her shoulder tight as her nostrils flared. The childhood nickname reached her, even through the haze of fury, and she turned to him. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find out what they've done with him," she growled, dangerously. Without waiting for his response, Ryn dropped silently from the oak branch, ignoring her brother's half-whispered objections. She walked toward the orcs' encampment, gripping their slimy auras tightly and yanking, sending the extra energy into the forest. It rippled around her, but she barely noticed as she entered the clearing, facing down the one brute she'd left alive. The others twitched on the ground, freshly dead, and the one standing was turning in a confused circle before catching sight of her with a growl.

Ryn heard Talos stomping along behind her, muttering incoherently, but couldn't be bothered to care that she'd upset him.

She had to figure out what was going on here. No tracks had taken off from the orc party's trail; but nor had there been any human blood along the way, no sign that Elof had been tortured, killed, or eaten. It made no sense, and now they had one of her friends.

Ryn wouldn't stand for it.

She reached the orc, who had charged her with his thick blade and swiped for her head. Ryn made no move to draw Naryaturë, completely unsurprised when Talos' axe intercepted the orc sword's arc and stopped it mere inches from her neck. Stopping her advance to give Talos room to work, Ryn refrained from interfering, knowing her brother had this well in hand.

Sure enough, it was less than a minute before the dwarf lad had the orc on his knees before Ryn, twin axes resting on its deformed collarbone. The creature panted for a moment, but didn't even wait for her to ask a question before its lips curled upward in a nasty smile.

Green eyes narrowed. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?" the orc asked, still smiling.

Ryn just stared at him, Talos just held the blades steady. His smile never faltered, though sweat began to bead on his forehead in reaction to the deep thigh gash Talos had gifted him with during their brief scuffle. As was typical of his kind, the orc didn't stay silent long, resorting instead to gloating.

As Ryn knew he would.

"You'll never win against us," he laughed. "We are too many, too powerful. Your friend, the human? He is far away by now, helpless against the power that holds him."

"But he is alive." It wasn't a question, and Ryn allowed a bit of triumph to show in her expression.

The orc simply snorted. "If you can call it that."

Ryn nodded to Talos, who pressed on the skin of the creature's neck with one sharp blade in a wordless threat. "Tell me how to reach him."

A half-mad giggle. It sounded obscene coming from such a monster. "My Master is holding him in Dol Guldur."

Ryn scoffed, fingering one of her throwing knives idly. "A bit predictable, don't you think, Talos?"

"Indeed," her brother responded.

"It makes no difference!" the orc barked. "It matters not if you know where He is; you cannot face him—and facing him is the only way you'll ever see your friend again." Another demented laugh. "Of course, if you're foolish enough to try _that_, you'll not have long left to live…and then what will become of your lover, Bastard Dwarf? Your poor, cursed sweetheart; you can't save him when you're dead—"

With no warning at all, Ryn turned and plunged her throwing knife deep into the creature's shoulder. Not needing any direction, Talos utilized its momentary incapacitation to tie the creature tightly to the tree at its back.

"I suppose you'll never know," Ryn growled, reaching forward and yanking her knife out of the orc's flesh, none too gently. "Talos."

Then she turned and walked away. Her brother stared after her for barely a moment, then back to the orc, before following.

* * *

><p>All things considered, Talos hadn't really known his sister for very long. They'd been separated when he was barely seven summers old, and had been reunited not half a year ago: almost eight years together out of the near-ninety she'd been alive wasn't very long, really.<p>

That said, their bond continued to amaze him. They hadn't had much _time_ together, perhaps, but he could usually tell what she was thinking, what she was going to do before she did it. They didn't always communicate well—like when Ryn simply charged ahead into the orc camp without waiting for him—but it had been instinct that had her standing stock still as the remaining brute had swung for her exposed neck, as if she knew he was already halfway to blocking the sword meant to end her life.

It had been instinct that told him to let her do the questioning.

And it had been instinct that moved his hands to tie up their captive when she was clearly done with him. Normally, he'd have beheaded the creature; but first rule of interrogation was to present a unified front.

Which was why he was currently running after his sister, wondering why she'd left it alive and restrained by simple leather ties—which it would doubtless break in less than a day. He knew she was upset about Elof—and they needed a plan about that, Talos was pretty sure she was intending to go to Dol Guldur and confront Melkor himself to get the Reader back—but her actions were becoming erratic, unpredictable.

And it worried him.

"Ryn?" he caught up to her splashing water on her face from the icy forest creek. She looked up and gave him a cursory nod.

"Are you ready to go?"

"What?" he asked. "Go where? Do what? I don't know what we're doing, here, Rye; you won't tell me anything, you're just charging ahead with no plan! At least, not one you're communicating!"

His sister paused before wiping the water off her face with a sleeve, seeming to take the chance to hide for a moment. "I know," she answered softly. With a sigh, she stood and faced him. "I'm sorry, it must be really frustrating for you. But Melkor, he's figuring me out, Talos." Her expression was nearly pleading. "He seems to know what I'm going to do, how I'm going to react, who I'm willing to walk into the fire for, and He's _using_ it."

Talos could see his sister's logic, and where this path was going, and he braced himself for a fight.

Because _no_. He was _not_ letting her do this.

"I can't afford to be who I normally am right now, _nadadith_. If we're going to beat this, I have to be unreliable, inconsistent. I have to make moves I normally wouldn't; do things I'd never do."

"Like leave that orc alive?"

She nodded. "That's partially why I did it. He'll get loose and then limp back to his…_comrades_…pass on what we did here. They're used to me slaughtering them; they'll have no idea what to do with that information. Besides," here she gave him a grim smile that had absolutely no warmth behind it. "Do you know what orc chiefs do to stragglers that survive confrontations like the one we just had?" When he shook his head, she nodded. "Believe me, killing him would've been a mercy."

Talos had to give it to her; it was actually a smart move. "All right, I can understand that. But what about the whole solo act, running in there without consulting me? And what are we going to do about Elof?"

A slight pause. "You mean 'me'. Not 'we'."

Here it came. Talos let his eyes narrow.

"No, I mean _we_."

"Talos, I am _not_ dragging you to Dol Guldur to face the most powerful enemy Middle Earth has ever fought with nothing but me by your side. Even if it is only a _portion_ of his spirit."

Mahal, his sister could be dim sometimes. "And _I'm_ not letting you go to Dol Guldur alone to face the most powerful enemy Middle Earth has ever fought with _nothing_ by your side."

Ryn glared, matching green eyes unblinking, both sets stubbornly refusing to give. "Talos—"

"Rye."

"We're not doing this."

"We _are_ doing this. You're not going alone, _namad_. It's a guaranteed failure—Melkor can kill you with but a thought—and then where would we all be?"

Ryn looked uncomfortable, but unconvinced. "I'll have to manage. I won't fail, Talos, there's too much at stake."

He rolled his eyes, knowing it would both incense her and force her to evaluate his logic. "If sheer willpower was all that was required to dispatch Melkor, sister, I'd have no doubt of your ability to do so. But it's not that simple. Besides—" he interrupted her angry spluttering, "what were you just saying about doing the unpredictable thing?"

She stared at him, betrayal flickering across her features at his turning her own logic against her.

"He'll never expect you to bring along anyone you care about," Talos finished, letting the truth of it sink in. Ryn seemed to be considering—and hating herself for it.

"If you don't let me come," Talos delivered the final blow in his case. "I'll just follow you. Which option is less likely to get me killed?"

He saw her think through it, saw her conclude he was right, saw the despair cross her face, quickly masked. Taking pity on the lass, Talos drew her close and pressed their foreheads together. "It will be all right, Rye."

"I lost you once—" she started, but he put a finger to her lips to shush her.

"I know. I lost you too, remember?" She nodded slightly, closing her eyes to mask the emotion in them. "We're stronger together, _namad_."

"Yes."

Talos kissed his sister's brow, then drew back with a smirk. "Ready?"

A fierce light sparked in her eyes, and she nodded.

* * *

><p>Fíli growled with frustration—a small, soft sound—when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. This quiet overlook on the east side of the Lonely Mountain was the single most isolated place he had discovered here; even his private chambers, with their guards and maids and messengers running to and fro, weren't this silent. Here, he could be alone and really think.<p>

It was a beautiful place, too. The small foothills surrounding Erebor eased into the flat expanse of the plains that sat between them and the Iron Hills, the long grasses waving hypnotically in the late autumn wind. The sun was setting behind the mountain at his back, and it sent long shadows for miles in that direction; but where the sun was, the plains were golden and stretched as far as his eye could see. The horizon met the darkening sky far away, clouds reflecting the pink and gold of sunset.

But now, evidently, his secret spot wasn't so secret. Fíli sighed.

"Oh!" the soft exclamation reached his ears, and his sigh turned to a smile. He turned to face Sêla in time to see her trying to retreat and curtsey at the same time. The result was a clumsy dip followed by her legs tangling as she nearly fell backward the way she came. Laughing, Fíli caught her hand and pulled her back upright.

"Hello," he greeted with a grin. Her blue eyes were wide, freckles standing out on her pale face even as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"F-Fíli," she stuttered. He may have finally convinced her not to call him "Your Highness", but the lass still seemed abnormally uncomfortable around him; had ever since they'd returned to Erebor. He couldn't figure out why; he made it a point to be as Fíli-like as possible with her, behaving more like himself than the King Under the Mountain when she or her sister were near. Their friendship was important to him, and he would do anything to maintain it. But Sêla seemed to be slipping away.

The thought hurt more than he figured was warranted. Fíli shook himself internally as he set the lass back on her feet, smile fixed. "You found me," he said.

"Evidently I did," she laughed a little. "I was exploring, I'm sorry to have interrupted your peace…"

"Not at all," Fíli answered. "You're neither a guard nor a councilor; your company is welcome, believe me."

She turned out to the overlook with a more genuine smile. "I'm glad. This is a lovely spot."

Fíli turned back too, and they stood in companionable silence for a few minutes. "So you were exploring?" Fíli asked, curious about her insight on the massive underground city of their forefathers.

She turned back to him, eyes sparkling. "Oh yes. I figure I should know everything I can about my new home—though I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever have the whole thing mapped out in my head. It's so beautiful, though!" She launched into a detailed description of the upper quarter that she'd been walking through just before reaching his overlook, much to Fíli's delight. Cheeks flushed, that look in her eye, the one he'd always known as children meant they were about to embark on an adventure—he loved this side of her, loved that he still got to see it once she forgot that he was Fíli the King and just let him be her Fíli.

The young King blinked. _Her_ Fíli? He shook himself.

_She's in love with another,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully.

"—and the pillars, Fee! Have you ever noticed the intricate carvings at the bases and tops? That geometric pattern inset with gems?" She traced the pattern in the air with her finger by way of example. "It's really quite something. The amount of detail they put into this city is simply stunning."

"It is impressive," he agreed. She turned those brilliant azure eyes on him, and Fíli felt his heart stutter.

_Damn_.

"Does it feel like home?" she asked, softly. He tilted his head, considering.

"Now it does," he answered after a moment. "With Kíli home safe, and Mother here…not to mention you and Anora? Yes, it's beginning to feel like home."

Sêla's smile was dazzling. "Good."

With a grin, Fíli held his arm out. "Please; do me the honor of allowing me to accompany you on your exploration, my lady. May I?"

Sêla hesitated, and Fíli almost kicked himself for suggesting it. But before he could laugh it off as a joke, she took his arm with a nod.

"Please, my lord, you are welcome to."

He couldn't deny, even to himself, the way he held his head just a little higher as they made their way back into the Mountain.

Her smile just made it that much better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Greetings, friends! I apologize for not posting last week—had some serious wrinkles in the storyline that had to be ironed out, and it took a few days to get it all straight. But it's working again, and I'm back with a relatively long chapter to make up for missing a week!

Also, welcome to the several new readers I saw in my inbox in the past few days! Can't wait to hear from you sometime, should you be so inclined!

Cheers to _Celebrisweth_, _drwatsonn_ (fear not, more Elof is coming as quick as I can manage it!), _miller330_ (heh, here you go with the Fili/Sela awkwardness), _Eruwaedhiel95_, and _Elise_ (because I can't PM you: I too, love the whole sibling thing with Ryn and Talos, and in regards to Sela/Fili—ugh, I never did like that kind of nonsense, so no, there'll be none of that. Also, I see you over there sayin' 'idjit' and stuff—fellow SPN fan?) for their awesome reviews, and of course, special thanks to _summerald_ and _Cassandrala_ for their proofing and constant encouragement! My ladies! *hugs all around*

Enjoy!

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><p>Anora didn't bother to hide her grin as she caught sight of her sister approaching, arm looped loosely through the crook of Fíli's elbow, laughing at something he had said. The lad was looking at her sister, his blue eyes alight with amusement, hand over hers on his forearm.<p>

They made quite the picture.

"What is _she_ doing with him?" Anora jumped as her father's voice came from just over her shoulder. She forced a smile and placed a hand over her heart.

"Papa, you startled me!" she laughed.

Her father didn't smile, acknowledging her instead with a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your sister doing with the King?"

"Aw, papa," Anora hurried to assure him. Her parents needed to not interfere with this—getting these two to figure out they were meant to be together was going to be difficult enough without their tampering with her plan. "They grew up together, they're just reminiscing a bit. Probably ran into one another in the Market or something." She kissed his cheek and turned to walk away, hoping to draw her father along with her.

He stayed where he was, watching Sêla carefully.

"Anora," he said, using that deep tone she recognized as finality—Papa was laying down the law. Anora didn't turn around, afraid her face would betray her. "You'd best accelerate your plans for hooking young Fíli before your sister beats you to it."

_Oh Papa, I'm counting on it._

"Yes sir," was all she said, a pit in her stomach at the idea.

How was she going to deal with this? Sêla couldn't marry without her parents' approval, but they were so entirely closed off to the idea of her with Fíli—and every day that passed, Anora feared, made it even less of a possibility that she'd be able to talk them around to it.

_Blasted marriage customs…_

If anyone could garner an exception from her stubborn parents, though, Anora figured it was the most powerful dwarf in all the Seven Kingdoms.

It _had_ to be.

Sighing, she left the room in a swish of skirts, making her way slowly toward the front door to go interrupt her sister's talk with Fíli. Silently, she apologized to them both as she left the family chambers and pasted a smile on.

She needn't have worried. Fíli caught sight of her first; his face split in a grin and he waved her over. Sêla was talking animatedly when Anora got within earshot, telling Fíli something about her sister and mewlips.

"—you should have seen her, Fee, she and Lady Ryn saved that dwarrowdam and her two young sons without any trouble at all. Kíli will tell you if you don't—oh hello, Anora! I was just telling Fíli about the journey here."

"She was," Fíli said. "You never mentioned you're a hero in your own right already. Though I'm hardly surprised." He favored her with a proud smile, and Anora felt a blush creep up both sides of her neck.

"Yes well, it didn't feel right to boast about such things."

Fíli laughed. "Hardly. I have seen your prowess firsthand, Anora, and it's obvious you're good under pressure—I've heard it now from several folks, including my own brother—and I actually was hoping to run into you today."

She looked up at Fíli, eyes wide. "Oh?"

They were both grinning like idiots, and Anora stuffed down the desire to stick out her tongue at them for being so blasted secretive. "What?"

"There's a vacancy in the King's Guard," Fíli said, and Anora felt her heart stutter.

Was he—?

"Would you like to fill it?"

Oh, he _was_.

"Uh—" was the most dignified thing she could muster for a moment. A myriad of statements—facts, hopes, fears—swirled through her head, not letting her hang onto any one coherent thought:

_Ma and Papa will never allow it._

_They'll immediately know Fíli isn't considering me for his Queen if I tell them._

_Could I keep such a thing secret?_

_The King's Guard…it's exactly what I've always wanted._

_It's an incredible opportunity._

_I could even help keep Sêla safe once she and Fíli…figure themselves out._

_I should say yes._

_I can't._

_Can I?_

"Anora?" it was her sister's voice that eventually punched through the maelstrom in her head. Her gaze snapped to Sêla's, green meeting hazel and speaking volumes, the way only siblings can. Sêla was studying her, trying to understand her reticence—Anora saw the realization dawn a moment later.

"Anora, no," she started. "You have to make this decision for yourself. This is _Erebor_, not the Iron Hills. You have the right to decide here. And Fíli and I will _both_ back you up."

"Ladies?" Fíli asked, looking between the two, confused.

"Anora is concerned about our parents disapproving of the arrangement," Sêla turned to their childhood friend. "They're rather hoping for a match between the two of you, and obviously, if she is in the King's Guard, you're not—"

Sêla shut her mouth when Fíli gasped and stared hard at her.

Anora wanted to smack herself in the forehead with her palm. She knew _exactly_ what was running through Fíli's golden head:

_"Well my parents currently have their eye set on a very specific dwarf for me, and are shoving me at him almost constantly."_

_"But you do not love him?" _

"_It is the very same lad Sêla is quite in love with…I'll not marry her One."_

Sêla's eyes were wide and questioning, shifting between Fíli and her sister, seeming to realize she'd just said something she oughtn't have, but not knowing what.

"A—Anora?" she stammered.

_Oh, Sêla._

* * *

><p>Not for the first time, Ryn cursed the unnatural stillness of Mirkwood forest. It was too quiet here to mask the sounds of her and Talos' travels, making them prime targets for any predator that relied on hearing to target prey.<p>

Which meant spiders. They'd tangled with the beasts twice yesterday alone, barely escaping with their lives both times, in spite of Ryn's magic and Talos' talent with an axe. The spiders here, in the very southernmost parts of the massive forest, were larger and bolder than the ones Thranduil's folk kept at bay, all those hundreds of leagues away.

But the silence had its benefits—the foremost being that the ability to track via sound was not exclusive. She heard their next threat long before she saw them.

Ryn put a hand up, a gesture to halt, and Talos stopped without question. Listening carefully, she reached out with her magic—sure enough, a party of orcs not fifty paces ahead. The only reason they'd not been spotted yet was because of the thick forest underbrush, Ryn was sure. She breathed a sigh of relief that quickly became a sigh of frustration.

This was a larger party—nearly forty orcs, and they weren't the tiny, gaunt goblins of the Misty Mountains; they were—they were—

Ryn nearly choked as she realized what she was seeing.

Their auras were a bit different than those of their smaller brethren she'd run into before—hints of dark crimson swirled about the usual filthy charcoal of the Mountain orcs. She had heard of such creatures, but had never had any reason to believe they were anything but tall tales.

She hated that she'd obviously been wrong.

"By the Valar," she whispered weakly. Talos squeezed her forearm, and she turned back to him, gesturing for them to go around.

If these creatures were what she thought, they were going to be much more of a threat than forty smaller orcs—and forty orcs of any size were a substantial threat already. Talos grimaced at her—he hated turning away from a fight, and it made her nearly grin—and followed her.

She began running the moment they were out of earshot of the creatures, and didn't quit until they were well beyond a league away. She led Talos up a large oak—he was getting quicker and quieter at climbing, much to her delight—and cast about for any presences in the area.

There were none, and finally, she breathed easier.

"Ryn, what was that?" Talos hissed, still displeased.

She shuddered. "Those, _nadadith_, were _orchadân."_

Talos gasped. "Orc-men? I thought they were legends!"

"Evidently not, we just nearly ran headlong into several dozen of them."

"_Mahal_," he groaned. "As if Men and Orcs aren't horrible enough on their own…"

"Easy now," Ryn snorted. "I'm half of the Race of Men."

"Yes well, there are exceptions to every rule, _namad_."

Ryn huffed her slight amusement. "Indeed there are. Come on; if we hurry, we can make Dol Guldur by tomorrow evening."

"Hooray for us."

* * *

><p>Kíli swung his long sword, carefully, slowly, moving with fluid grace from one defensive position to another, hoping the repetitive and familiar motions would calm him. He was running his most basic, oldest exercises today, ones he'd been taught by Thorin and Fíli when he was but a lad wielding a tiny wooden sword.<p>

Something about the simple motions hearkened back to the dwarfling he had once been, the relatively simple life he'd led before politics and quests and morgul wounds that rendered him practically useless and wreaked havoc on his peace of mind.

Which was really the problem here, he mused as he forced his muscles to remain controlled and tight rather than simply taking his frustrations out on the poor wood-and-straw dummy before him. He was restricted to the Mountain because of the morgul wound, unable to venture much further than the Western Guard Tower; unable to be out there helping face this threat head on, instead sequestered here underground, safe and completely _worthless_.

Even his attempts to work with the Oath's magic had been fruitless, as the power seemed to only appear when the situation called for it—which apparently didn't include training.

And his beloved was rushing headlong into danger to save him, while he was helpless to protect her. He had been able to tell the last couple of days that something was wrong—their Bond hummed with her anxiety, her urgency. It wasn't strong enough for him to think she herself was in critical danger, but something was _definitely_ wrong.

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

A roar escaped the Prince of Durin, and his sword whistled through the air as he brought it across the thin wooden neck of the practice dummy.

The lump of straw and fabric thumped as it hit the ground, but Kíli didn't hear it. Impotent rage boiled in his blood, refusing to be shoved back again; and the unfortunate dummy bore the brunt of it as he hacked at it again and again, blows that would easily fell a real enemy in one stroke, a battle rage that would make even Dwalin proud.

Kíli didn't stop when the ravaged pieces of the practice target lay on the ground around him. He didn't stop when the post that had held up the dummy became his next mark. He didn't stop until a steel blade met his—a real one, wielded by a living, breathing warrior. Eyes the color of brandy met his, and Kíli retreated instantly, breathing hard. His heart pounded in his ears, sweat rolling down his face and his arms shaking from exertion.

"Something you care to share, Kee?" Rognus asked him, a crooked smile softening the demand.

Kíli huffed, shook his head.

Rognus tilted his head, regarded his old friend; after a beat, he nodded. "Very well then, come on." He took Kíli by the arm—a dangerous move when a warrior had been tearing a wooden post to splinters less than sixty seconds earlier—and pulled him away from the target, toward the barracks. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we're going for an ale."

Kíli dug in his heels a few paces later. "No, Rognus, I….I don't want to go to a pub."

"Who said anything about a pub?" Rognus said. "You need a cold drink and a companion right now, not a noisy crowd who won't stop singing poorly-composed love ballads."

"I _need_ another practice dummy," Kíli muttered, feeling his frustration tingle in his fingertips again.

Rognus stepped forward and pried the sword from his friend's hand gently but firmly. Kíli gritted his teeth.

"You're lucky we're swordbrothers," he growled. "Anyone else but Fíli tried that, they'd not have a hand."

"Yes well," Rognus wasn't the least bit intimidated. "We _are_ swordbrothers, and you're in need of some brotherly advice, so come on."

Sighing, but knowing when he was defeated, Kíli followed Rognus out of the training grounds into a smallish inn barely a hundred paces away. It was a relatively isolated place, new like many of the businesses popping up around Erebor, the owners fresh and happy to provide any service they could garner. Which was why, when Rognus asked for a some privacy for him and Kíli, he was directed to a large room just off the main hall, obviously intended for groups that desired the service of an inn but a single place to meet.

Kíli slumped in one of the benches, tracing the rim of his mug idly. He tried to snap out of it, he knew he was practically _sulking_; but there was just too much going on and he didn't want to burden Fíli with any of it, and he was just…

_Ugh_.

"All right, out with it," Rognus plunked down across from him, taking a sip of ale. "Explain to me why you were mangling that defenseless dummy beyond recognition?"

Kíli scoffed. "Because it was a better option than tearing up an actual opponent."

Rognus saluted him with his ale and a crooked grin. "Indeed it was. But why'd you feel the need to decimate something in the first place?"

The Prince sighed, knowing he wasn't getting out of an explanation at this point. He could tell Rognus to get lost, though he'd hesitate to drive away one of his dearest and oldest friends; but it wouldn't matter anyway, the lad would just go to Fíli, and then _Fíli_ would corner Kíli and demand answers.

And the last thing he wanted was to give his older brother yet another reason to worry about him.

"I'm simply frustrated," he answered, quietly.

"Clearly. Why?"

"This morgul wound," Kíli thumped his ale down onto the table, annoyance making him twitchy and tense again. "I can't properly defend my own people, can't be there protecting Ryn while she runs off to some ancient city to heal me from something that has me trapped, hiding here in safety while other people put their lives on the line for me. And if you get to the root of it, all this is my fault anyway, because if I'd never been hit with that _blasted_ arrow, Melkor wouldn't have a chance at having a dwarf 'servant' of the Line of Durin at all—"

Rognus simply nodded, taking another sip of his ale.

"—and add to that the fact that there's not much we can do with the Oath until we need it in the middle of some battle that I have a nasty feeling is coming sooner rather than later, and I just….needed to break something," he finished lamely, petering off as his frustration vented itself into the air between him and his swordbrother.

"Well," Rognus said, cocking an eyebrow. "That all sounds like a very good reason—or number of reasons, really—to be as tense as you are. Since telling you 'all will be well' would be pointless and probably not even true, I will simply say this: remember what Gandalf said. Despair and bitterness are your enemies, Kíli; Melkor can gain access to you just as easily through those as through a physical confrontation. You need to be able to air your frustrations and not let them fester into something worse. And Fíli and I are _both_ here for you, so you've no excuse."

Kíli felt like a dwarfling being scolded. He sighed.

"Now drink your ale," Rognus ordered. Kíli went to comply, but at that moment, a young page ran into the room; panting and sweating. Both older dwarves looked to the lad curiously. He took a moment to compose himself, cleared his throat and stood tall.

"King Fíli summons you, Prince Kíli, to his personal chambers."

Kíli stood immediately, a hand on Rognus' shoulder to thank his friend. "What's happened, lad?"

The boy's eyes were wide. "I don't know, sir, but I hear there's an orc wishing to treat with us on the Northern Border. White flag and everything. Word is he has a message. For you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Happy Tuesday, everyone! This one turned out a lot longer than I expected, but hey! It's exciting stuff! Thanks to _Celebrisilweth_, _miller330_, _Eruwaedhiel95_, and _drwatsonn_ for their wonderful reviews; along with _Cassandrala_ and _summerald_ for their constant support and beta-ing! You all are the best ever!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>There was no gentle awakening for him, no gradual growing awareness of his surroundings. It was, simply put, painfully abrupt. He gasped, eyes popping open wide as he surged upward to a sitting position, blinking hard against the blinding sunlight that bathed his face.<p>

"Identify yourself, Stranger!" a stern voice demanded, but Elof couldn't see the speaker. He took in deep, heaving breaths, his lungs contracting painfully as though unused to the sensation of inhaling.

"What?" he wheezed. His fingers opened and closed reflexively, and the soft prickle of grass registered in his foggy brain. That, combined with the scent of water, the gentle murmur of it, and the dampness he was just now noticing on his back, gave the young Reader the impression he was near a river.

And, he saw as his vision began to finally clear, he wasn't alone.

He was staring down the shaft of a long, goose-fletched arrow, the delicate features and pointed ears of an Elf Guard looming over him.

"I said," there was nothing delicate about the Guard's tone. "Who are you?"

"E-Elof," he stuttered, coughing. Valar, his throat was dry; how long had he been lying here on the edge of the river? Where was he?

Better yet, _why_ was he lying here at the edge of a river asking himself these questions in the first place?

The elf's eyes were narrowed, but Elof didn't even notice the suspicion in his gaze—something any smart opponent would perceive as extremely dangerous—searching his racing mind for a last memory, anything that would explain what was going on.

Last he knew, he'd been with Ryn and Talos, fighting off—

"Where's Ryn?" he asked, brushing aside the arrow and lurching forward, intending to stand. He made it about halfway before blackness overtook his vision and he ended up sprawled in the damp earth. "Damn," he muttered. He felt the sharp point of an arrow in his back.

"You cur!" the Guard spoke again. "How dare you?"

"Olwë, stop, he needs help," a female voice cut in.

"The simpleton obviously has a death wish," the first voice—Olwë, apparently—growled. "No one in their right mind shoves aside a drawn bow—"

But he quieted when Elof promptly retched into the grass, spitting up bile and something black he preferred not to identify even if he could.

"He's ill, _tirno_," the female implored, and Elof recognized the word "warden" as his address. So a scouting party, then. He'd just pushed aside an _Elf Warden_ in an attempt to get up after being asked to identify himself.

_Curse_ his addled brain, he was lucky he wasn't dead already.

"'M sorry," he tried to say, slightly alarmed by his own weakness. His voice sounded wretched, croaky and hoarse and shaking.

What had _happened_ to him?

"I don't know where I am, where my friends are," he turned to face the guard, hands held up in a gesture of surrender, trying to convey his helplessness. "I am weak and ill…but I am no enemy of the—" he eyed the guard's uniform, "—Elves of Lorien. You know my companions—the Lady Miriel, Healer and Warrioress, and her brother Talos?"

The guard's gaze softened, just the slightest bit, though his bow was still drawn and trained on Elof's chest. "We know of the Lady Miriel. Last we heard, she was travelling with two companions on a quest. You are the Reader, the Human lad who is aiding her?"

"I am." His head was positively _pounding_. Olwë seemed to weigh his options, and Elof sat still, letting him. Quiet acquiescence was his best bet for survival at the moment; and besides, Galadriel's folk were allies, Ryn had told him.

He did wish the elf would hurry up, though; he could really use some herbs or something about now…

"Alassë," Olwë finally ordered, "See to him. We will send messengers to Lady Miriel to verify his story."

_Thank the Valar._

The female elf who'd first spoken for him approached, tossing her long chestnut hair as she knelt and met his eyes.

"I am Alassë," she murmured. "I will check for what ails you, young Human. Please do not be alarmed."

"I'm not alarmed," he gasped. "I'm in _pain_."

"Where?" she latched onto his willingness to help her triage him.

Elof motioned to his head—the pain was intense enough to radiate down his neck and into his spine—and his stomach, which hadn't unclenched since he threw up. Alassë laid a warm hand on his clammy forehead, pressed lightly on his stomach, checked his eyes.

After a few moments of examination, she hummed in satisfaction. "You were poisoned, young one. I have a general antipoison I'll give you that should relieve the stomach upset and help your body overcome the effects of whatever you were given. I do not wish to bring down your fever just yet—it is not dangerously high, and so will assist your body's own defenses. Here, drink this." She handed him a small vial, unsealing the top and offering it to him.

The liquid inside smelled strongly of peppermint—which Elof knew from his short time with Ryn would help with the nausea and headache—but with undertones of other herbs he couldn't identify. He tipped the clay vial with an ironic smile and drank it all in one go.

It tasted worse than it smelled, and burned a bit going down, but his stomach unclenched instantly and within a few breaths, his head ached a little less. He looked up after a moment, meeting smiling blue eyes.

"Better?" Alassë asked.

"Better," he said.

"Good, let us be gone then," Olwë announced sternly. "Idril! Mélawen! Find Lady Miriel—yesterday's report placed her not far from here, just on the border of the Mirkwood."

"Dol Guldur?" one of the two young elves who'd stepped forward—a lad with plaited blonde hair and deep green eyes—asked.

"It appears so, yes," Olwë answered, and Elof felt an unnamed dread steal into his veins; icier than even _that_ cursed place warranted usually. He couldn't identify why, though, or what exactly the feeling meant.

All he knew was she was in trouble.

"Please hurry," he begged, and the two elves bowed to their commanding office before turning and running gracefully toward the eastern horizon.

* * *

><p>The ride on shaggy mountain ponies from Erebor proper to the Northern Outpost was a relatively short one—The Lonely Mountain's stone roots extended further south and west than they did north and east, with the result that it was the work of an hour to reach the Guard House where their orc…<em>guest<em>…was being held.

Fíli was impressed with his soldiers and how they'd handled this most unusual situation, even if he was _not_ happy about Kíli agreeing to speak to the monster.

The thing likely would just try to antagonize him, anyway.

But Kee had insisted. Said they might be able to get good intelligence out of the monster, figure out what Melkor's play was. They hadn't heard anything odd or dealt with any bizarre attacks, diseases, natural (or else not-so-natural) disasters since returning to the Mountain. Fíli had to admit that it was odd, but unlike Kíli, he wasn't looking the gift horse in the mouth, as it were.

He had arrangements of his own to make, over and above Kíli and Dwalin's rigorous training of their small military force, for the protection of both the Mountain and his _nadadith_.

Said arrangements were proving to be both time-consuming and exhausting, but Fíli wasn't about to give up.

Still, he wasn't letting his brother anywhere near any of Melkor's servants—white flag or no—without him. So now they stood in the common room of the Northern Outpost, talking with Diran, the ranking officer there, on loan from the Iron Hills. The battle-hardened old warrior was bristly and just about as happy having an orc occupying his holding cell as Fíli was, if his growling and fidgeting with his massive mace was any indication.

Fíli decided he liked the dwarf.

"Blasted creature approached one of the scouting parties—young Boren's group—with a scrap of white cloth and calling out to parlay with, as he put it, 'The Master's Future Apprentice'. I told him no such dwarf existed here, to which he snickered and asked for you by name, my Prince."

Fíli visibly bristled, and Diran added hastily, "I'd have just as soon shot the thing, sire, but the rules of engagement—"

"You did the right thing," Fíli assured the old dwarf. "It is Melkor and his ilk who have secured my ill-will, not you, Master Diran."

The old dwarf grunted in approval and motioned the brothers to follow. He led them through a couple of stone hallways and down to where the narrow passage opened up into a room with a single cell taking up about half of it. Torches along the walls illuminated the dingy space—it probably hadn't been used in nearly a hundred years now—casting long shadows in odd places. Added to the presence of a scarred and wheezing orc in the cell, stubby fingers wrapped around the iron bars and firelight glinting off red eyes, the whole scene had a sinister atmosphere that made Fíli's hand stray to the comforting weight of his sword at his side. He eyed Kee, who was entirely focused on the sneering creature in the cell and seemed not to notice the downright creepy ambiance of the room.

"Bring him out," Kíli ordered, and Diran nodded, pulling out a single long key from his pocket. The orc cackled as two dwarf guards extracted him, none too gently, from the cell and shoved him to his knees before their Prince.

"What do you want?" Kíli asked, and Fíli felt his blood run cold at the tightly-controlled hostility in his voice. It wasn't something he was used to hearing from Kíli, who was all mischief and playful impishness. Even on the Quest, his _nadadith_ had never displayed this sort of open loathing toward an enemy.

Fíli suddenly wondered if they were going to win this thing, only for him to lose his little brother in the process.

"The Dark Vala has sent me to entreat you to see reason, my Lord," the orc grinned, bowing his head once in a mocking gesture of respect. "He wishes to extend the hand of friendship to you and make an offer."

Fíli winced. This caricature of regard was even worse than if the orc had just come in here tossing insults and poisonous threats around. Kíli would just ignore those—but this? This was sure to needle him on the best of days.

Surprisingly, Kíli remained calm. "Does he now?"

The orc inclined its head again. "He does. He says to assure you that your family will remain unharmed if you simply allow him to work through you. Your Royal Mother will be given a comfortable home, your brother shall remain King Under the Mountain, even, under Melkor, King of All. And your…_beloved_…" the creature spat the word, "will be allowed to live. All you must do is surrender. My Master also wishes to remind you that his reach will extend over all of Middle Earth with or without your help—this is inevitable, Prince, and you'd best be on the right side of it when it happens. My Master _will_ gain control of the mountain, the mithril magic, the dwarves; the only question is whether you'll spare your family in the process or not."

Fíli's hand gripped the hilt of one of his swords hard as he fought to control himself. This was Kíli's battle. He studied his brother, trying to anticipate Kíli's next move; but the lad's hard face was expressionless, and even his expressive brown eyes were unusually blank.

He didn't look worried, outraged, or afraid—just…coldly calculating.

Fíli suppressed a shudder.

* * *

><p>It was too quiet, Ryn decided. She and Talos were approaching Dol Guldur, its menacing towers cutting harshly against the dark gray sky, and they still hadn't so much as run into a single guard.<p>

It was a bit alarming, honestly.

Beside her, Talos was visibly tense, obviously as disturbed as she at the complete lack of response from their enemy. He was spinning his axes in both hands as they walked, rasp of wood handles against leather gloves over-loud in the too-silent forest.

"Where are they?" he mouthed when she sent him a look.

She didn't know, and she didn't like it.

* * *

><p>"Oh, and in case you need another reason to join us," the orc growled at Kíli, delight written all over its ugly features. "I am supposed to inform you that my Master is aware of your half-bred whore's plan to 'heal' you from his influence; His Servants captured her only a few days ago, and she sang like a canary once he disposed of her brother and the Human."<p>

_Now_ his brother's eyes registered some emotion—all-consuming rage, and Fíli couldn't blame him, as fury bloomed in his own chest, bright hot and intense.

* * *

><p>The two young dwarves crouched behind a stubby bush just on the edge of the bridge leading into the ruins of Dol Guldur, watching for any sign of activity or movement from inside.<p>

There was nothing at all, and Ryn was getting the worst feeling _ever_ about this.

She fell into her Magic, casting about for any life force at all, in an attempt to determine if they were truly alone, if their captive had given them false information…

* * *

><p>Kíli stepped closer to the orc, looking down at it, fists clenched tightly at his sides in an apparent attempt to control his desire to rip the thing's head off. Instead, he leaned down a little so he and the orc were looking full into one another's faces.<p>

"That scrap of white cloth is literally the only thing standing between you and death right now, _hakhakh shekul,_ so I would choose your next words carefully: what is her brother's name?"

* * *

><p>Ryn's heart nearly stopped at what her Sight was telling her. She grabbed Talos' hand, but made no attempt to move, merely hissing at him, "Ready yourself to fight, <em>nadadith<em>. They are here."

No less than fifty ugly black-and-crimson auras surrounded them, far too close to afford the dwarves an escape.

They had walked straight into a trap.

* * *

><p>"What?" the orc let slip, confusion momentarily evident on its face.<p>

"What is her brother's name?" Kíli asked again, not bothering to hide the malice from his voice. "She would have been screaming it, over and _over_, had you really captured her, tortured him, killed him…you would know his name, if for no other reason than it'd be the only thing she would've been able to whimper as you broke her. His _name_. What was it?"

The orc's eyes were wide now.

* * *

><p>"Finally, a real fight," Talos muttered, his back to Ryn's, so he didn't catch the roll of her eyes.<p>

"There are at least fifty of them, you idiot, this is not a moment to be relieved."

"Bring them on!" the younger dwarf growled, shifting his axes in his hand. "They've got another thing coming if they think they can defeat the Children of Kora, Daughter of Erebor."

Ryn grinned despite herself, gathering her power and reaching out for the _orchadâns'_ life forces.

She could at least thin the ranks.

* * *

><p>Kíli stood back up, tall for a dwarf, and looked down at Melkor's messenger, completely calm and cold.<p>

"The thing about bluffing," he said, "is that there has to be a measure of truth to your lie, otherwise it's easily discovered. You don't have her. Her brother is not dead, and neither is their companion."

Fíli could've laughed, both out of sheer relief and awe at his brother's reasoning. It was actually brilliant.

"Now, you run straight back to your _Master_," Kíli said the word with all the derision he could muster. "And you tell him to keep his precious offer. I don't want it. If he's going to gain control of the Lonely Mountain, of Durin's Line, he's going to have to do it without me. And one last thing: you can tell him that if he so much as touches my family, I will personally send him screaming back into the abyss where the rest of his disgusting soul resides."

Kíli stepped back, addressing Diran now. "Get him out of my sight."

* * *

><p>Ryn managed to drain the life force entirely out of ten <em>orchadân<em> and turn the excess into an explosion that killed two others before the main group was on them.

Then it was thrusts, parries, dodging and dealing blows, protecting Talos' back and sides even as he protected hers.

Bodies began to pile up, but the sheer force of numbers was overwhelming. Both Ryn and Talos began to take blows they normally could have deflected, focusing instead on redirecting the truly fatal ones and absorbing the merely-painful ones.

There were just _too many_ of them.

Ryn realized with a punch of fear as more _orchadân_ appeared, apparently reinforcements for the initial wave:

They weren't going to make it out of this.

* * *

><p><em>hakhakh shekul—<em>Khuzdul, lit. "you cowardly dog"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Cheers, everyone! Sorry this chapter is late: real life is kicking my ass in the worst possible ways right now—but I did get a chapter out this week, so there's that. Yay me!

Thanks to _Cassandrala_, _Celebrisilweth_, _Eruwaedhiel95_, and _drwatsonn_ for their most excellent reviews—sorry I didn't get to respond to any of you individually this week, but know that your reviews mean the world to me. Special shout-out to _summerald_ for putting up with my whiny raging writer brain this week; she's been a Godsend!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Battles were ugly affairs, Ryn had once heard it said. She supposed that after fighting as many as she'd fought in her lifetime, it was something one thought less about; simply doing what needed to be done because the alternative was something much worse.<p>

But once in a while, a fight was so _horrific_, it brought the point home again.

This was one such fight.

Ryn screamed in combined rage and agony as the dirty blade of one orc-man's sword bit into her thigh deeply while she worked to hold another at bay. The creature laughed—_laughed_—and pulled back, readying for another swing; one that would doubtless take her leg off entirely.

Ryn barely had time to wonder if she could heal an entirely-severed limb before the weapon was swinging in a wide downward arc. She twisted, hoping it would at least hack at a different angle—it'd hurt like Mahal's own hell, but at least she might keep her leg—and ran smack into yet another orchadân, this one grinning down at her as it scissored two daggers at her throat.

"Ryn!" she heard her brother's shout, but couldn't respond as the first creature's sword hit her flesh—at an angle as hoped—and her world exploded in a burst of agony. Steel severed muscle and ligament, drove into bone and stuck there. The daggers at her throat dug into soft flesh as she began to fall, but her own blades were there, stabbing the one in front of her almost without orders from her brain.

She fell, narrowly avoiding having her throat cut and instead getting a deep scalp laceration for her trouble. Blood ran down her face, blinding her.

"RYN!" Talos was panicking, but there was pain in his voice too, and she looked toward him. It was impossible to see him through the melee, especially from the ground where she'd fallen, and panic bloomed in her chest.

What if he needed her help?

Mahal, but she couldn't get to him. Everything _hurt_. Fighting the very real desire to pass out, Ryn resisted the pull of her magic, the instinct to activate the _falancuru_ and destroy everything in a several-hundred-foot radius in order to heal her.

Talos' voice was _too close_, he'd be caught in the shockwave.

She'd rather breathe her last right here on the prickly, dead ground.

A war-cry reached her ears bare moments later, clear and triumphant, nothing like the voice of an _orchadân_…

The creature standing over her snapped to, his attention diverted by something going on behind her; it was enough for her to focus on her magic just long enough to kill every orchadân within six feet of her brother. The effort left her seeing stars.

_Maybe should've healed myself first._

The remaining _orchadân_ were growling in rage now, and though Ryn couldn't see much at this point, blood and darkness vying for priority in her vision, she suspected they'd just garnered some unexpected reinforcements.

_Wonderful_.

She grabbed the auras of two _orchadân_—all she could manage just now—and yanked, applying the energy to her shredded leg and innumerable other injuries. Pain flared white-hot through her nerves, and she nearly lost the concentration required, but Ryn held tight to her magic.

"Ryn!" Warm arms were crushing her against a leather jerkin she hazily recognized.

"_Nadadith_?" she murmured, weakly. His chest spasmed in a sob. "Hurt?" she whispered.

"A little, but I'll live. You just heal yourself, sister."

"Who came?" oh Mahal, she was losing consciousness. She had to make sure he was safe first…

"Elves. They'll help us. Just rest, it's over."

_It's over._

_Valar, everything hurts._

_Hope Kíli doesn't feel this…_

_Hope—_

* * *

><p>Hundreds of leagues north, deep inside the Lonely Mountain, Kíli clutched at his brother's arm and bent over, breathing hard against the echoes of anguish that resonated through his body.<p>

"Kíli?" Fíli said, folding his arms around his brother and holding him up. Kíli breathed deep, feeling himself trembling, and struggled not to cry out at the vague pain that ripped through his right leg. He clutched his head as the world spun wildly.

"Mahal, _ow_," he growled, jaw clenched, worry burrowing deep in his belly.

_Ryn!_

"Kee? Kíli!" Fíli sounded confused and terrified, shaking his brother a little as he ducked them into a small chamber off the hall. "Do I need to call for the healers? What's happening?"

"No!" Kíli shook his head, gritting his teeth. "No need for healers, nothing's wrong with me."

"But you—"

"It's Ryn," he shuddered. "Something bad has happened to _Ryn_, Fíli."

Fíli set Kíli down against the wall, though he didn't let go of the younger dwarf's shoulders. "What? How do you know?"

Kíli looked up, brown eyes meeting blue. "She and I, we—" he hesitated. He and Ryn had agreed not to tell anyone about the Bond that her Eiri blood created between them the last time they had…

_Rukhsul_.

He couldn't see a way out of it now, not with Fíli. Frankly, he realized abruptly, he was lucky he'd gone this long without Fíli seeing it; his big brother had a way of just knowing when something was wrong with him.

_Forgive me, iduzhib._

"There is a Bond created between an Eiri and her beloved," he answered, haltingly as he prayed to all the Valar that Fíli wouldn't ask for details. "We're…connected somehow."

Kíli chanced a look at his brother, gasping through the pain in his leg. Mahal, whatever she'd been hit with was pretty savage, if this was only an _echo_ of what she felt. Fíli's eyes were wide; both of them had grown up knowing the dangers of Binding magic, for the dwarves had some of their own. Bonds were powerful, but also potentially deadly.

"I can feel echoes of things she feels," he pressed on. "At least, the strong emotions. She's been worried sick the last few days, and then just now…"

"That's how you knew the orc was lying," Fíli breathed, hand tightening on Kíli's shoulder as the younger dwarf shuddered. He nodded.

"I couldn't rightly _say_ that to him, so I had to come up with some sort of logic; but I knew Ryn wasn't dead, or even captured. She's been far too calm for that."

"And now?"

Kíli's eyes were wide as they met Fíli's. "Now…she's in _pain_. Something's happened, Fee, and I can't tell what. We have to do something!"

"I know," Fíli looked as worried as Kíli felt. "I'll send a raven to Lorien; we've posted a Ravenspeaker there, and Ryn and Company should at least be _close_ to Galadriel's realm by now."

Kíli nodded, not thinking it nearly enough of a response, but there wasn't much else they _could_ do. Besides, the agony in his leg and head was lessening, fading—whatever had happened, Ryn was healing.

At least, he _hoped_ that's what that meant…

"Meanwhile," Fíli forced a grin. "I want to show you something. I haven't been able to get you to myself since we got back, not for long enough to really talk; and I think this might make you feel a bit better about what's coming."

"What's com—what are you talking about?"

"Just come on!" Fíli pulled him to his feet and led him out of the small chamber. Kíli hesitated, searching the little nub of magic that he recognized as his Bond with Ryn; it was quiet now—his beloved was either completely healed or completely unconscious.

He was fairly certain he'd know if she was dead. _Mahal_, he hoped so.

Refocusing on his brother's retreating back, Kíli forced himself to stop worrying and followed him through winding halls and down, further into the Mountain, toward the heart of it.

"Where are we going, Fee?" he huffed after nearly ten minutes of nonstop running. Fíli just winked back at him.

"Come on, _nadadith_, tired already? You're getting out of shape!"

Kíli couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips, in spite of everything. He suddenly had a vision of two younger dwarflings, one golden-haired and one raven, squealing in delight at the mad chase around Thorin's Halls that they'd end up in at least twice a week. Mother used to laugh, and Thorin roll his eyes good-naturedly, when they'd come back to the family chambers, out of breath and flushed.

"Where have you boys been?" Thorin would demand, hands on hips. Kíli would hide behind Fíli, giggling, as the eldest stood tall.

"Training, sir," he'd answer, prompting more giggles from his little brother.

"Is that so?" Thorin's best glare would come out, but his blue eyes would be dancing.

"Yes, Uncle!" Kíli's small voice would ring out from behind Fíli. "Fee was an orc chief and I had to excape!" Mother's lips would twitch at her youngest's mispronunciation of the word, and Thorin would kneel before his nephews, nodding at Fíli to step aside so he could talk to Kíli.

Fíli would grin and sidle over, bringing the tiny dwarf around to his side, arm firmly around his shoulders.

"Did you outrun the minor Orc Chief Fíli?" Thorin would inquire, and Kíli would giggle again and nod.

"Good for you," Thorin would smile. "But now you have a greater challenge: you must defeat the Great Goblin Chief Thorin!"

Both boys' laughter could be heard down the Halls as nephews would attack an Uncle who knew that while competition was a helpful training tool, it was even more vital his Heirs learned to fight as a unit.

Training, indeed.

Kíli grinned as he pulled even with Fíli. "Out of shape, you say?"

Fíli laughed. "Easy now, we're nearly here!" He skidded to a stop outside a non-descript door in a non-descript hall far away from much of anything. Kíli tilted his head as he caught his breath, eyeing the door. Its only real defining feature was the silver handle.

"What is this?" he asked. Fíli grinned.

"Open it."

Kíli did as commanded, and felt a jolt like electricity race up his arm as his fingers met the cool metal. He startled, jumping back with a yelp.

"What in the name of the Valar?"

Fíli was laughing now. "It's mithril, Kíli." The younger dwarf nodded in agreement—he'd sensed it immediately, the clear smoothness that any of Durin's line could recognize as mithril.

"Yes, but—"

"The jolt? That was because it's not just _any_ mithril." Fíli opened the door, and Kíli found his jaw dropping at the smallish chamber that was revealed. "It's magicked," Fíli whispered.

Mithril snaked in random tendrils through all the walls and the floor, glistening silver against the dark stone, forming a rough circle in the middle of the floor, surrounded by rough Khuzdul runes. In the corner, a mithril rod about Fíli's height rested against the wall.

"It was sung into the stone by our ancestors," Fíli's voice was hushed, awed. "There are several rooms like this throughout the Mountain. This one is the one that amazes me most, though. Here I can communicate with the Stone itself, Kee, it's incredible."

"Communicate with the Stone?"

"Yes," Fíli answered, excited now. "I used it to find Kerif when he was planning my assassination, and I've been practicing with it for when Melkor shows up. This Mountain has secrets, Kee, like you wouldn't believe—"

"Isn't that a bit…dangerous?" Kíli asked, his brow furrowing. Mithril magic had always made him nervous, it was volatile and sometimes difficult to get right. One could easily create or destroy something one never intended to if the mithril interpreted the speller's wishes a certain way. He never had been able to get the hang of it, and the results had been disastrous once or twice.

Fíli had never had such trouble during their brief training in mithril spells. He still had a mithril dagger he had forged that never required cleaning or sharpening.

Prat.

"It is if you're not careful," Fíli agreed. "Balin has been helping me."

"Good," Kíli said, edging out of the room. "All things considered, I probably should stay as far away from this as possible."

Fíli laughed, threw an arm around his brother's shoulders, possibly remembering the talisman Kíli had once tried to Spell to protect Fíli, but had ended up simply not allowing the dwarfling anywhere near anything remotely dangerous—including fire, water, and his own swords. "You're right, I wasn't going to try and get you to use it."

"Good."

Outside, in the hall, Fíli put both hands on Kíli's biceps and turned him to face him. "But I wanted you to know we're not without hope here, _nadadith_. We have weapons that are formidable indeed, and even Melkor would be hard-pressed to get into this Mountain if we did not allow him in."

Kíli nodded. "But what if—?"

"What if you cannot resist him?" Fíli asked, knowing his brother's fears as well as his own. "If anyone could, Kee, it's you. You're the strongest person I know."

Kíli's jaw clenched against the sudden emotion clogging his throat. He forced a smile—glad his brother had more faith in him than he did in himself—and squeezed Fíli's forearm. "Thanks, _nadad_."

"Now come on. Dwalin's waiting to pummel us both into the ground in the name of 'training'."

* * *

><p>"<em>Where<em> is my brother?" Ryn demanded of the elf healer, not wanting to be rude, but in no mood for games.

"My lady, please, calm yourself. I sent your brother away to eat and wash; the boy hadn't left your side for four days." The healer, to her credit, barely responded to Ryn's temper, speaking softly and calmly as she checked over the girl's wounds.

Ryn winced when the elf touched the leg that had been horrifically damaged. Her magic and accelerated natural healing had prevented infection and stopped the bleeding, held the wound together; but it was still exceedingly painful and Ryn was too tired to bother with magic just now. The _falancuru_ could keep an Eiri moving and fighting for weeks, but eventually even _they_ had to stop and actually rest.

Ryn had been on borrowed time for days before the attack, and now her body absolutely refused to do more than demand to see Talos. She sunk back into the pillows, not able to relax completely until she saw her brother with her own eyes, but knowing the lad would be back soon if the Healer was telling the truth.

"_Ryn_?"

She sat up again, recognition of the voice causing a punch of adrenaline in her veins. She turned to meet blue eyes, pale skin, a shock of black messy hair.

"_Elof_? Mahal, lad, you had us out of our minds with worry!" Ryn reached for him, not bothering to try and get out of bed with the Healer standing right there, smiling in that serene way elves manage so effortlessly.

His smile impossibly wide, the Reader loped across the room in two long strides, folding Ryn in a tight hug and laughing his relief. "_You_ were worried? I woke up on the banks of the Anduin, unable to remember a single thing after we were ambushed! I thought you were _dead_…"

Ryn returned the embrace, a chuckle escaping. "You're not rid of us that easily, my friend."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Good morning everyone! So we're taking a tiny detour here—don't worry, you haven't accidentally clicked on the wrong story! If it seems random, just hang in there; I promise all will be revealed in the end.

Thanks to _Eruwaedhiel95_, _Celebrisilweth_, _Cassandrala_, and _miller330_ for their awesome reviews! You guys keep me writing even when the guacamole hits the fan! Also, a special shout-out to _summerald_ for her review and awesome beta skills!

Enjoy!

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><p><em>Year 3319, Second Age<em>

Estë, called the Gentle Vala, Mother of Healing, walked in her gardens in the ancient and beautiful city of Valinor. Her home had been rather busy of late, as the many souls of Men (and some of the Eldar and Eiri as well) that had perished in the Destruction of Numenor made the Crossing and came to Aman to rest after their mortal lives were over. So many of them were hurting and grieving, Estë and her husband Irmo had had their hands full over the past days; the assistance of their Servants, most notably Olórin, who was possessed of a heart soft as hers and mind sharp as Irmo's, had been invaluable.

The entire situation was a shame, though.

The Race of Men had long been, among the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, the most susceptible to the temptations of evil. The Valar often wondered at the fact, for they and the Eldar were the only races of Arda to have been created by Eru Himself, and it seemed to many of the Ainur that they should have possessed the kind of strength that protected them from such temptation. But alas, it was not so, Estë reflected. Instead, they had demonstrated themselves capable—indeed, predisposed, it seemed—to such crimes as jealousy, rage, murder, thievery, and most recently, an attack on Aman itself based upon nothing but greed.

The Numenoreans, for all their might, had stood no chance, of course, against the Valar themselves. Numenor had been swallowed up and much of the race of Man destroyed as they led each other in a rebellion against Eru and his Servants.

She shook her head as she walked, blessing and comforting the souls in her house. Eldar, Men, her own Children, the Eiri, even the Children of Mahal; all pure spirits made their way here eventually, though they often arrived damaged, grieved, and once in a while, twisted.

One such soul wept nearby. It was a new arrival, Estë realized as she crossed the Lily Gate. This garden was amongst the most peaceful, usually inhabited by the most pained of spirits, those who required her personal attention to heal and truly be at rest.

The woman the Gentle Vala made her way toward was tall, golden-haired and fair, despite the state of her tired and shattered soul. A simple silver circlet rested in her thick gold strands, sapphires and diamonds arranged in an intricate weave that the Vala recognized. Estë's heart ached for the woman, and she placed a soft hand upon that golden head.

"Miríel, my beloved, why do you weep?"

"I weep for everything," the Woman responded, shoulders bowed in grief. "For my forced marriage to my cousin, who killed my only beloved so that he could be King; for my kingdom which he destroyed the moment he brought that monster Sauron into Numenor; for my people who are now scattered and few; for myself, for even as I struggled to the summit of the Mountain to pray for mercy on behalf of my people, I was overtaken by the sea and brought here where I can no longer help them in any way." The end of this bitter speech was met with more tears, though Miríel leaned into Estë's touch, as souls often did. The Vala pulled the Woman into an embrace and let her weep undisturbed.

Many hours later the Gentle Vala strode into her home, through stone halls adorned with ivy and climbing vines. After a time she came upon a richly carved wood door, which she opened and bestowed a smile upon her husband who waited for her beside the hearth.

"My beloved," Irmo nodded, motioning to her to join him. "Come, the fire is a comfort."

She sat beside him, leaning into his strong arms and radiant warmth. She often felt cold in her wanderings, though she never seemed to notice until she was beside Irmo again, saw his small smile directed at her, his gray eyes alive with compassion.

"You are troubled," he stated as she settled. It wasn't a question, and Estë was not at all surprised he noticed. They often sensed each other's thoughts and moods with nary a word spoken.

"I am," she admitted.

"What is it?"

"I spent the afternoon with the Lady Miríel."

"The Queen of Numenor?"

"In name only, yes. Her husband, in addition to his wickedness regarding the attack on Aman, was exceedingly cruel to her in life. He forced her in many things, hurt her in many ways, such that her soul is marked with it. It will take much time for her to heal."

Irmo squeezed his wife against his side in a gesture of comfort. "I am sorry, my Love, I know how such pain grieves you."

Estë nodded, but there was more. "She said something to me that was even more troubling than her pain, Husband."

Irmo waited for her to continue, so she did. "She said the Fall of Numenor began the moment Sauron was captured and brought to the city for trial." Her brow furrowed. "He was brought there to be tried for his crimes, Irmo, and instead he ended up the King's Chief Advisor and instigated the attack that resulted in the fall of an entire civilization."

"Melkor's Lieutenant has certainly earned his reputation," Irmo said, and there was a hardness to his voice that made Estë cold all over again.

"Yes, and I fear he is not finished with Arda yet," she answered. Irmo jolted a little at that, looking down at her.

"What do you mean?"

"He'll not rest until he sees the utter destruction of all that our Father created and we have worked so hard to preserve," she blinked at the tears of despair that stung her eyes. "He has power and charisma and, somehow, a talent for tempting Iluvatar's children into rebellion. Irmo, how do we stand before such evil?"

"My Love, there is nothing we can do to change the choices of the Men and the Eldar save encourage them toward the right path. We cannot force them."

"But _he_ can!" Estë swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "He can, and he _does_, and what are we to do?"

"You have your Eiri," Irmo said. "The Healers of the Hurts of Arda, remember? They have never yet yielded to the Dark One or his servants."

But Estë shook her head. "They are powerless against injuries inflicted by Dark Magic. They are powerful, but not powerful enough." Irmo's eyebrows raised, and Estë knew she was headed quickly for a rare fight with her husband if she didn't explain herself. "I do not mean to say they ought all be entirely invincible, lest they prove to handle it worse than even the Men do. But is there nothing we can do, nothing we can create that could match Melkor himself?"

"Like a weapon?"

Este paused, thinking. "Perhaps. Or a gift. No, _two_ gifts. One from you, one from me, that when used by two souls in unity of purpose, could match even the power of the Darkness. Could we do it?"

Irmo's dark eyes glazed over as he consulted his Ability. She watched his face go from skeptical to accepting to inspired in mere moments.

"Yes," he breathed. "We can."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Hello everyone! I apologize for not posting last week, but have an extra long chapter here to make up for it! Special thanks to _Celebrisilweth_, _Eruwaedhiel95_, and _drwatsonn_ for their reviews, along with _summerald_ for her fast friendship and crack beta abilities!

Also, happy Thanksgiving to any of you in the US!

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><p>"Sêla? Sêla!"<p>

After checking the chambers thoroughly for parental presence, Anora shouted her sister's name, knowing the lass would be home this time of day. She had told Anora, all smiles and blushes, a few days before, that Mister Balin had asked if she wanted to work with the Erebor Scholars and perhaps become one herself—the two had often bonded over scrolls and books in Ered Luin, and even growing up Sêla had devoured any knowledge she could get her hands on.

Evidently the older dwarf remembered it.

So she'd begun working with the small group of academics a few days prior, and it had been the subject of many excited conversations in the five days since. Even their parents had been happy to hear it, proud that their daughter was putting to use the intelligence everyone always knew she possessed. But Sêla was always home for nearly two hours at midday, during her break, to write or read or work on various household tasks.

"Anora?" the lass in question came out of her room looking a little confused and only slightly concerned.

Anora grinned.

"I have something for you!" She shoved the folded parchment into Sêla's hands and rocked back on her heels, still smiling. The lass looked down at it—it was heavy and thick, and her name was inked in an elegant script on one side—then back up at her sister.

"What's this?"

"Why don't you open it and see?"

Sêla broke the thick wax seal and unfolded the parchment carefully, hazel eyes scanning the neat writing and widening in disbelief as she went.

"He wants to…see me? Anora, what's going on?"

Anora's grin was now so wide it almost hurt. "He put two and two together, Sêla—I'd told him that Ma and Papa were trying to set me up with the lad you were in love with, and then you told him that they were trying to set me up with _him_. Thick as he can sometimes be, he's not entirely dim. Fíli knows now, Sêla, or at least likely wants to hear it from you for himself."

Sêla blinked, paling. She sat slowly on the edge of the bed. "Oh, Mahal."

"I know, isn't it great?" Anora laughed. "Nobody—not even our parents—are going to tell the King Under the Mountain no if he wants their daughter. And they get what they desire anyway—a daughter who'll be Erebor's Queen—and you get your One and I get to be in the Guard, and everybody wins, Sêla!"

"_Namad_, you are jumping to conclusions most horribly right now."

"No, I'm serious—"

"So am I!" Sêla looked up at her sister, blue eyes meeting hazel pleadingly. "Sister, he likely just wants to be sure it's the truth so he can do the honorable thing and tell me himself he's not interested. He's the King Under the Mountain, for Mahal's sake!"

"And your childhood sweetheart."

Sêla blushed, looking at the thick rug beneath her feet. "That was a long time ago. And—" she interrupted before Anora could speak up again. "Mother and Father will never agree. You know as well as I that I cannot marry before you, nor marry into a higher status. There's no higher status than Queen, Anora, so I can _never_ marry him. Not unless you marry, I don't know, King Dain or someone!"

Anora didn't even bother trying not to make a face at the idea. "Sêla, I seriously doubt they'd let that get in the way of your happiness and whatever benefit they'll derive from—"

Sêla laughed bitterly. "Whatever benefit they'd gain from me marrying him they'll gain from you marrying him. When did I become the realistic one, _namad_? You know I speak the truth—they'll never agree."

The girls were silent while Anora had to admit internally that, yes, Sêla was probably right.

But this was _Erebor_, not the Iron Hills. Lasses were treated differently here; and maybe, with the right set of circumstances, their parents would come around.

First, though, she had to get Sêla and Fíli both on board.

It was like herding cats, though, these two. Blind stubborn fools, the both of them.

"Just go see him," she pleaded. "If nothing else, do the lad the honor of telling him it won't work to his face. Please, Sêla. It's not right to ask me to break his heart for you."

As expected, her sister's jaw clenched at the implication that she would ask such a thing of anyone, much less her sister. "Don't be dramatic. I'm sure he'll not be 'heartbroken." She paused, then sniffed. "But of course I ought to tell him myself," she glanced down at the paper again, running her fingers over the tidy runes almost subconsciously.

_Poor lass has got it bad._

"Good." Anora tried not to smile. "I'll accompany you, then. Shall we?"

Sêla stood, taking her sister's proffered hand. "We shall."

* * *

><p><em>Dearest Kíli, how I wish you were here.<em>

Ryn sighed softly as she lay in bed—for the _second day_ in a row—not quite ready to leave the beautiful dream she'd just had. Reality had made enough of an appearance for her to realize Kíli was not _actually_ next to her, holding her warm and safe in his strong arms, kissing her hair now and then and whispering how much he loved her. Instead, she curled tighter around the pillow she held, letting herself remain in a half-dozed state and composing a letter to her beloved that he would never see.

No raven could carry a letter that far and have it arrive in any condition fit to read.

_I miss you so terribly it's like a physical ache in my chest. I ignore it during much of the day, usually; travelling, fighting, our mission consumes my waking thoughts. We draw closer to Fjallstadr every day, though we are currently regaining a bit of strength in Lorien. My ancestors' ancient city is a mere six day's journey from here._

The sun shone through the open arches of the healing ward. The thin curtains kept it from shining directly on her face, but Ryn could still feel the heat of it, welcome against her skin.

_But at the most unexpected moments, âzyungel; at the most unexpected moments, I am reminded anew that you are far away from me, and the ache is nearly unbearable. When Talos says something that makes me laugh and I turn to share it with you, or when I'm training Elof and want to ask you how to explain something (you're definitely the better teacher, of the two of us). Just the other day, when we fought the orchadân, I scored a particularly complex hit (took out two of the monsters with one dagger strike) and looked for you, somehow expecting those dark eyes of yours to be alight with pride._

_Obviously—and thankfully—you were not there._

Quiet humming as one of the healer assistants entered the ward. Footsteps drew nearer, and Ryn prayed for one wild second that the elf wouldn't pull her away from this cozy place in her mind. Gentle fingers felt her forehead and cheeks, a sound of satisfaction, the tangled blankets being adjusted around her, and then nothing.

The lass breathed a sigh of relief. Thank Mahal she could stay with Kíli a little longer, even if it was only in her mind.

_You are the first thing I think of when I awake, the last face I see before I sleep; every moment I spend not moving forward, I am keenly aware of your suffering. My love, I am doing everything in my power to shorten that time. I will see it done, I swear to you. I will heal you, release you from the torture of Melkor's influence and the morgul poison that pains you so. Every day sees me nearer the Starstone, nearer Fjallstadr, nearer the midpoint of our journey. _

_Every day is one day closer to you._

A tear slid over her nose and hit the pillow, an ache in her chest that Ryn couldn't shake.

_Kíli, my fairy tale prince. How I miss you._

The single tear was followed by others, until Ryn vaguely realized she was crying into the pillow she held. Giving into temptation, she buried her face deeper into the soft down and slipped back into her dreams, where he waited to welcome her with open arms.

* * *

><p>If there was one aspect of kingship Fíli felt he had never been properly warned about, it was just how many documents required his signature. Treaties, proposals, memorandums, announcements, public statements, letters, agreements…<p>

The list went on.

Forever, it sometimes seemed.

Fíli sighed, flexing his fingers and rubbing his eyes as the chamberlain took away the document he had just signed—a proposal detailing the trade of raw ore for Dale weaponsmiths in exchange for cloth, tapestries, rugs, and various other textile products. The weavers of Dale had once been legendary, and many of their descendants had re-settled the place after the death of Smaug.

"My lord."

Fíli looked up, standing belatedly at the sight of the lass standing beside the chamberlain. "Sêla, Daughter of Tefur. She has a royal summons."

Fíli's old friend was blinking hard, trying not to stare. Her fiery hair was pinned back and she had an ink smudge on her jaw. Red working robes reached her ankles, the billowed sleeves rolled up a few times to expose slender wrists and forearms. Her fingers gripped at the loose garment nervously, and between the flexing he could see that her skin there was dark with ink, too. The entire effect made him want to laugh.

She'd been at the books again.

Sêla curtseyed gracefully, despite her obvious anxiety, and Fíli realized he'd gone several seconds without so much as acknowledging her presence. The chamberlain was eyeing him expectantly.

"Oh, yes," he murmured, clearing his throat. "Yes, I sent for her. Thank you, Nort." The dwarf bowed smartly and left.

Another half minute passed, in which Fíli realized, belatedly, that he hadn't really planned what he was going to say to Sêla once he got her here. Cursing himself, he scrambled to find a way to bring up the subject in a delicate way.

"Your Majesty," Sêla began, still looking at the floor, when nearly sixty seconds had passed. "I received this—"

"Sêla, please," he answered with a smile. "It's me, Fíli. Just Fíli." He took a step toward the lass, and she looked up finally, meeting his eyes. She smiled back, shyly.

"As you wish."

Fíli sighed at that, the ice not nearly as broken as he wanted. He pulled a chair over, gesturing to her to sit. "Please, be comfortable. I want to talk to you. But not talk to you like…the King to a merchant's daughter. I want to talk to you like Fíli to Sêla." Her eyebrows rose a couple inches, and Fíli nodded emphatically. "Can we do that?"

She appeared to consider it for a moment, and Fíli was rewarded when her smile relaxed a bit. "Yes of course, Fee."

Fíli grinned at the old nickname. "Better. Now, lass, let's discuss what your sister told me a few weeks ago."

The King nearly laughed when Sêla blushed all the way to the tips of her ears, her skin blotching red enough to match her robes. He bit his cheek to keep from chuckling.

"Yes," Sêla answered, taking a deep breath before raising her head and looking him in the eye. Fíli could see the stubborn streak in those blue depths, the determination to say what she came to say despite her embarrassment. "Anora says she told you our parents wanted to set her up with the man whom I love, but that she wouldn't cooperate."

"Yes," Fíli answered.

"And I told you they wanted her matched with you."

"You did."

"And you've realized what those two statements together mean." He opened his mouth to speak, when she cut him off, complete honesty and openness in her face. "It's true. I've been in love with you for ages, Fíli, Son of Dis. Since long before you left on that Quest, maybe even since you and Kíli made that trip to Dunland."

"Dunland?" he asked, momentarily distracted. "Sêla, that was nearly twenty five years ago."

Her skin darkened red again, but she did not look away. "It was."

Fíli huffed a shocked laugh. "Why did you never say anything before?"

"I…" she shifted uncomfortably. "We were so young, Fíli, I didn't know how to even approach the subject." She paused, then continued very fast. "And I thought…I thought you weren't interested at all, there were plenty of lasses that were vying for your attention, and you were always kind to them, I felt sure someone else had caught your eye…and months became years, and before I knew it you were leaving on this crazy Quest and I was going to tell you the night before you left, because I didn't know if you would survive…but I couldn't find the courage, and believe me when I tell you I hated myself for that, especially when word came there had been a huge battle and no one knew if you'd lived or died. And then that letter came, that blessed letter….you'd _made_ it, you were _King_ now, and I just thought I'd be lucky if you even remembered me, much less….you know, and then our parents said they wanted to match Anora with you, and Father still lives by the Iron Hills customs, so you know why I basically gave up on ever being with you after that." Sapphire eyes took on a pleading look. "And I'm _still_ in love with you, Fee, but I understand that you're not and even if you were, we couldn't ever be anything because my parents will never agree to it and I don't want to marry without their blessing, it's horrible luck—"

Sêla made the gentlest sound of surprise as he leaned forward and shut her up with his lips. Fíli felt his skin erupt in goose flesh at the feeling of her, the scent of her hair and the heat of her mouth overloading his brain. Shakily, she sighed through her nose and relaxed into the kiss, bringing her fingertips up to stroke his short beard with a little hum of contentment.

_Mahal_.

The perfect moment lasted a few more seconds before Sêla tensed, pulling back. Fíli stayed where he was, holding her face mere inches from his with his gaze, studying the flecks of grey in her bright blue eyes. Sêla was breathing heavily, cheeks pink, tears gathering just under her lashes.

"Sweetheart?" he whispered.

"My parents," she choked, closing her eyes. "What are we going to do, Fíli?"

Fíli gave her a cheeky smile. "It's _me_, love. I will convince your Father."

And he would. He'd known Tefur and Poli since he was a child; power and position aside, archaic customs be damned, Fíli was certain he could persuade the two that he was right for their youngest daughter.

Sêla's lips found his again, the kiss gentle and shy but full of emotion. Fíli sank into it, marveling at this feeling, this fierce desire to protect and shelter and provide…and…

"Mahal, Sêla. I'm in love with you, lass."

* * *

><p>To Ryn's delight, they let her out of bed that day.<p>

Well, she had insisted. Rather loudly and petulantly, causing Elof to stare and Talos to moan with embarrassment; but she barely cared. She couldn't spend one more day lying flat on her back doing nothing.

And anyway, a message had arrived from Erebor via raven, from her future brother-by-marriage. It had been simple enough, an inquiry from the elves as to whether Ryn's party had arrived in the Wood yet, but the lass heard so much more in it. Certainly, there was a chance that the timing was coincidental; that the King Under the Mountain was simply inquiring as to her location for the sake of his Royal Brother.

At the same time she was being mauled by monsters that only existed in legend.

_Coincidence, indeed._

She sighed as she made her way toward the Ravenspeaker's post. The implication stood, that Fíli probably knew about her Bond with Kíli now; the King would've asked his brother why it was so vital he send the letter now rather than later—she wasn't even expected in Lorien yet, they'd made really good time before Elof's kidnapping—and she was at a loss as to what Kíli could've told him that would've made sense. Other than the truth, of course.

Still, if anyone was to know, she'd rather it be Fíli. Perhaps it'd even be _helpful_ having him know—Kíli needed someone to confide in, and the natural answer had always been his brother. Why not continue the tradition now?

A tender smile touched her lips. She'd always loved watching Fíli and Kíli together anyway, the way they looked out for one another, shared laughs that no one else was privy to, practically read each other's minds. There was so much history there, so much love and so many stories; Ryn knew she would never know Kíli quite the way Fíli did. Knew that there would always be things only his _nadad_ could help with, times that only Fíli's strong arms and gentle words could be what Kíli needed.

And she would not have it any other way.

After all, she had a brother, too; and their relationship, though it had been stunted by so many years of separation—_forced_ separation, which still irked her—was still growing into something equally as beautiful as what the Heirs of Durin shared. Her lips quirked in amusement as she considered her _nadadith_; the snark he used liberally to protect that achingly soft heart, the little twirl he executed with his axes when preparing to fight, the way he blinked a few times every morning when he saw her, as if to remind himself that it was real, his big sister really was alive and with him.

She knew the feeling.

"My lady!" a voice startled her out of her reverie as she turned the corner. She blinked, focusing on an unfamiliar dwarf lass several feet away, a large black raven on her arm. The lass was shockingly young, or at least it seemed to Ryn—definitely younger than she, and she was considered very young by dwarf standards. She had dark eyes, which had flicked back to the raven she was speaking to, and equally dark hair that tumbled in loose curls down her back. A single knotted braid banded over the crown of her head, woven with a blue cord. Practical clothing—simple tunic, leggings, soft boots—and a leather arm binding to accommodate the ravens' sharp talons confirmed that this was the Ravenspeaker Ryn was looking for. She smiled as the lass finished her work and sent the bird off with a gentle word of thanks.

"You must be Lira?" Ryn asked.

The lass nodded. "And you're Lady Deorynn. Well, the elves call you Miriel, but the correspondence from Erebor…everyone there calls you Deorynn, or if it's the Prince, just Ryn." Lira was blushing now, and Ryn had the distinct feeling this conversation wasn't going quite like she'd imagined it. "Not that I would ever presume to call you Ryn, because it's such a familiar endearment; but Lady Miriel almost feels like a betrayal, because I'm no elf, and Deorynn is such a lovely name anyway—"

Ryn snorted, in a failed attempt to hold back an outright laugh, and the lass' expression dropped while her ears turned red. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

"No, no!" Ryn hastened to assure her. "It's quite all right, I am sorry for laughing at you. I still cannot get used to the idea of folks actually wanting to meet me, say nice things…anyway, please. Do feel free to call me whatever you like. I do not mind."

Lira was smiling now. "I think Lady Deorynn is quite perfect."

"Very well, but just Deorynn, please. I'm no lady."

At that, the lass actually laughed. Softly, and a bit shyly, but it was a laugh nevertheless, and Ryn smiled wider for it. "I was looking for you anyway. I wish to send a message to Erebor; do we have a raven ready to make that journey?"

Lira nodded seriously, all business. "We do. What do you want to say, and to whom is your message going? Lady Galadriel already sent a response to the King when we received his inquiry as to your location."

"Good, that is a relief. He must have been worried to reach out like that."

"He was." Lira's eyes were somber. "The missive was hastily written, and he said they had intelligence that something may have happened to you. I'm certain the Prince was quite beside himself."

Ryn nodded again. "I would not blame him. I cannot say all I wish to in a small enough letter for a raven to carry, obviously; but could you write only two sentences to Kíli?"

"Of course." The Ravenspeaker settled herself at her writing desk and retrieved a slender length of parchment from a drawer. It was just thick enough for one line of script, but very long. "A new idea," Lira offered, seeing her confusion. "I actually proposed it. For missives longer than ravens can carry, or journeys too far for them to remember a message, we write on this parchment. Then we roll it up in a special small metal case around the raven's leg."

Ryn's eyebrows rose. "That's impressive, actually."

"All the Erebor Ravenspeakers are using them now, especially those posted in other kingdoms, like me." Lira smiled gratefully and grabbed her quill from the inkpot near her right hand. "Now, my lady—er, Deorynn—what would you like to say to Prince Kíli?"

"Yes, thank you. 'Ambushed by orchadân in Dol Guldur, but Enemy is not there. All is well, the dawn comes quickly now.' He will understand."

Lira's tongue rested on her lower lip as she carefully wrote the Khuzdul runes on the thin strip of parchment. The message fit with room to spare, and the lass asked next, "How shall I sign it?"

Ryn thought for a moment. "_'Idúzhib-më'_, please."

Lira's cheeks pinked as she bent back over the desk, and Ryn stifled another chuckle. "As you wish, my Lady."

The Eiri lass watched as Lira called a fresh raven—she recognized the little hen, Kip, and greeted her heartily while the little corvid dashed around her head in excitement. This was the raven Kíli had tasked with tracking her while Fárbjóðr held her captive a couple months ago, and though she'd never seen Kip during that trip—she'd been well-distracted by other things—she had met the hen later, after reuniting with the caravan headed to Erebor. She was a flighty little thing, beautiful and sleek and excitable. Ryn was no Ravenspeaker, but even she could make out the excited quorks of "Spring Lassie, Spring Lassie!"

Finally, Lira calmed Kip enough to roll the strip of parchment into the message carrier on her leg. "Deliver this directly to Fledgling, Kip. No one else, got it?"

Ryn smiled as the raven darted off in a rush of feathers and squawks. _Mahal bless your journey, Little One_, she thought. _Carry my love to him as quickly as you can_.

"My Lady?" Lira asked softly. She seemed shy again.

"Yes?"

"Please…the King has sent out an announcement to the Ravenspeakers about what is happening. There weren't many details, but he said the Mountain is in danger of attack from the Spirit of Melkor himself, and that somehow, the Prince is in grave peril. No one speaks of you or your mission, but…" she fidgeted, as if unsure whether to go on.

"Yes?" Ryn prompted.

The lass took a deep breath. "I don't pretend to know your quest, my lady; only that I suspect it has something to do with protecting the Mountain, and more specifically, helping Prince Kíli. I only wish to ask: when you said the dawn comes quickly…does that mean you are nearing your goal? The mission is almost complete?"

Ryn regarded the lass for a moment while she considered her answer. She obviously would not give details to someone she barely knew, but all Ravenspeakers were thoroughly vetted and checked, and were entrusted with sensitive information all the time.

So she settled for looking out over the balcony into the ethereal forest of Lorien, and answering the lass a single word:

"Yes."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Happy Friday, everyone! Sorry I didn't get to respond to those of you who reviewed immediately—as has been the case for most of us the last couple weeks, my family has been wildly busy with the holidays (speaking of which, hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!). On that note, special thanks to _Celebrisilweth_ (believe me, Ryn is about to get _real_ focused on her mission), _Miriel Tolkien _(Username win! Also, I agree Fili doesn't get enough love—there's more for him in this chapter!), plus my girls _Cassandrala_ and _summerald_. Both ladies have awesome fics up, you should go look at them!

Okay, on with the story!

* * *

><p>He hadn't spent the vast majority of his childhood with a sorcerer for nothing.<p>

This all was familiar—terrifyingly so—to Elof. The headaches, the inability to focus, the way his limbs felt heavy and his blood thick and sluggish in his veins. The sleepless nights brought on by night terrors that left him confused and gasping for air. Add to that the fact that he _still_ could not remember a thing from the time he was separated from his friends—Ryn told him it was nearly a week he'd been a prisoner—and the Reader had quickly begun connecting the signs.

Melkor's folk, or whomever had had him for those seven days, had a sorcerer at their disposal. And they'd done something to him. What, he did not know; but something wasn't _right_.

"…Elof? Are you with us?" Ryn's voice cut into his thoughts, and he came back to the conversation with a start.

Blue eyes blinked blearily. "Yes, sorry, what?"

Ryn gave him a sympathetic smile. "You need to get some more rest, lad. If you like, I can—"

"No!" Both Talos and Elof interrupted. "Ryn, no using your magic for _anything_, you know that," Talos said firmly. "Not until you're stronger."

The girl on the bed rolled her eyes. "For the love of _Mahal_, you two. I've been resting for three days now, and I feel simply exceptional. Besides, who said anything about magic? I was going to say I could give you some herbs to help you sleep better. You look exhausted."

_Sleep_, Elof scoffed internally. It wasn't likely. He'd tried herbs already—the elven healers had given them to him the very first night he woke sweating and shaking in the Healing Ward.

It hadn't helped.

The next night, they'd tried others, more potent ones. It still hadn't worked.

After the third day, they'd released him with more of the herbs, but he never took them. He didn't see the point in wasting what could be used for someone else.

It was going to be a problem on the road, though, and Elof knew it. He wouldn't be able to keep Ryn or Talos from seeing him toss and turn in his sleep, thrash and sweat and jerk until he woke, often loudly and very vocally. There was also the small matter of whatever the sorcerer had done to him could easily be used against Ryn and Talos—Melkor or his minions could be hearing everything Elof heard, or seeing everything he saw, right this moment…

_By the Valar._

The thought sent the young man to his feet in a stifled panic. Ryn and Talos stopped talking abruptly, looking up at him with confused expressions.

"Are you well?" Talos asked, head tilting in a way that made him look as young as he really was, almost more dwarfling than warrior.

Elof thought he might be sick.

"I just…I need….I forgot something in my chambers. Please excuse me."

"Elof, wait!" he heard Ryn cry as he practically ran from the room. "Wait, please!"

He didn't stop.

* * *

><p><em>Durin I travelled across much of Middle Earth until one night he happened upon a small pool in a vale of the Misty Mountains. Into this pool he looked, shocked to find his reflection crowned by seven stars of the heavens. Since that day, the group of stars the elves know as Valacirca is called by the Children of Mahal 'Durin's Crown', anbe—<em>

Sêla sighed as she eyed the massive smudge of ink beside the misspelled word on the parchment she had been assigned to transcribe from the ancient text that sat beside her. "Blast," she muttered.

She had been basically useless for the past three days, and if she wasn't careful, Master Balin would notice. And if he noticed, word would get back to her parents, who had little patience for such distraction. Not to mention it would generate questions she had no desire to answer just yet.

She was fairly certain "I have fallen in love with the King Under the Mountain, and he loves me too; and we've been meeting in secret for the last few days to talk and…_not_ talk" was a good way to damage, more than assist, her case.

Fíli had been ready to go talk to her father the very day she confessed her feelings to him, go straight to her family chambers and plead for her hand right then. Sêla had begged him not to, insisting that the news would go over better if she could find a way to…_ease_ them into it, her Father especially.

Tefur didn't take kindly to his Word of Law being ignored, specifically by his wife and daughters.

_Which is probably why he so often is vexed by Anora._ The thought made Sêla grin.

"Lass, is that not the third time you've had to re-start that page?" Master Balin's voice, though kind, made Sêla jump as it pulled her from her thoughts. She stared down at the parchment again, eyeing the smudge as though it had personally offended her.

"Yes sir," she answered quietly. "Can't seem to get anything right today."

Master Balin's eyes twinkled, and she wondered for one wild second if he _knew_.

"Alas, days like that afflict us all." He picked up the destroyed document. "Well, I'll have this blank section cut off for spare parchment, you know where to find new sheets." She nodded and went to comply, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "And lass?"

She looked at him questioningly, trying not to blush outright.

"I know it's a lovely fantasy you've got going in that bright young head of yours, but do try to check back into real life once in a while, eh? You'll give away the whole thing."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the stunned young lover behind to gape.

The rest of the morning passed just as slowly—as _torturously_—as the first two hours had; but finally Sêla was released for her midday break by a grinning Master Balin. She reflected as she walked out of the Scholar's Quarter, turning left instead of right, toward home, that if he didn't stop it she just might lose her mind entirely.

She shook off thoughts of the old dwarf, though, in favor of images of a younger one with hair like sunlight. She bit back her smile and walked a little faster.

Fíli was waiting for her on what they both now considered their secret balcony—that same overlook where she had run into him when he sought solitude a couple of weeks prior. It was, Sêla liked to think, the beginning of their relationship, as that was the day she'd unwittingly let spill to Fíli that he was the lad she was in love with.

She'd never been so grateful for a social blunder, she realized as his sky-blue eyes met hers and his lips turned up in a grin.

Fíli reached for her, and Sêla went to him without hesitation. He clasped her smaller hands in his strong ones, and Sêla marveled at the way her heart sped up at that simple touch. He was so close, his face only inches from hers; and when he reached up and tucked a fiery curl behind her ear, Sêla couldn't help the way her eyes fluttered closed. It was ecstasy, plain and simple: his touch was tender, almost tentative, like he was holding something fragile and precious beyond measure, and his other arm tightened around her waist slowly, pulling her against his warm chest.

_Mahal_, a girl could get used to this sort of treatment.

"Hello, my love," he murmured, in that deep husky voice he reserved only for her. Sêla shivered just before his smiling mouth met hers, and words seemed unnecessary and superfluous after that.

* * *

><p>Elof half-ran through the Halls of Lorien, barely noticing any of the elves eyeing the stumbling, half-panicked human with barely-concealed concern.<p>

_Outside_. He had to get outside. He needed air. And space.

Room to think. Room to plan, to escape their eyes and their questions and their sympathy and their _help_.

The young Man gasped for air as his chest tightened. He knew if he didn't get himself under control soon, he was likely to end up in a full-blown anxiety attack; it had happened before. Unfortunately for him, when it had, he'd been under the care of the merciless sorcerer who'd kidnapped him as a child and used his abilities shamelessly for over ten years.

It hadn't ended well for him.

_Fárbjóðr_.

Just thinking the Eiri's name had his heart beating even faster and his steps faltering as he tripped over his own two feet, trying to escape what was now only a bad memory.

Or was it?

Damned sorcerers. What was it about him that screamed '_TARGET!_' to them?

Elof stumbled out the elaborate arched door of the Healing Ward and into the coolness of the evening air. Still he did not stop, sucking air into his aching chest as he lurched forward; searching for a quiet place, isolated, somewhere without watching faces or prying questions, somewhere beautiful, somewhere…

_There_.

A huge oak, gnarled branches thick and strong, in the midst of a secluded vale several hundred yards from the House. The Reader nearly fell into the knotted roots of the massive tree; large and tangled and perfectly suited to hide a relatively slender Man—the lack of exercise and sunlight and proper food in Fárbjóðr's care had ensured Elof remained small for his age, and now it was nearly too late to really catch up—and didn't bother trying to stop the impending tears he felt stinging his aching eyes.

_Oh Valar, what am I going to do?_

He'd never been one for useless tears—the environment he'd come to adulthood in hadn't really allowed for it—so the crying didn't last but a minute or two before the young man began deliberately breathing deeply and slowly, attempting to silence his screaming thoughts and wheezing gasps. He _had_ to calm himself, think rationally, protect his friends…

What could he possibly do? He couldn't remember what had happened to him, didn't know what Melkor's folk (or whoever had captured him) wanted with him, had no idea how to even _begin_ fighting any of this. He had no magic of his own, and he knew from experience that he was basically helpless when under the influence of a spell.

_Though_, he thought, _not entirely._

Growing up the prisoner of a sorcerer had given him one advantage, and that was that he usually could passively resist the power of magic. Well, 'resist' was generous; really, all he knew how to do was redirect the intention of the spell just enough to minimize the damage done.

_Redirect_.

Elof's lips twitched in a grim smile, a fleeting moment of triumph as he realized what he could do to save the woman who had rescued him from captivity, and the brother she loved more than life itself.

He did not want to do it, though, he realized with some surprise a moment later. Images flashed in his mind—studying ancient Eiri and elven texts with Ryn in Erebor's library, weapons training with Talos, the boy's grin when he got something right, and the teasing banter he'd begun to develop with both of them, both of them laughing across a campfire at something he said—and he suddenly realized.

He had become hopelessly attached to the dwarf siblings.

Elof's jaw clenched in suppressed grief. They were the first real friends he'd had since childhood, his saviors and his companions, two comrades who had accepted him in spite of his oddities and his complete lack of social skills, who had taken him in as one of them and made sure he could fight for himself.

And he had no choice but to leave them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants belong to the great JRR Tolkien, not me!

A/N: Hello friends! The big news in the fandom this week, is, of course, the release of Battle of the Five Armies. I _have_ seen it, absolutely loved it, and am not ashamed to say I cried for nearly twenty-four hours afterward. And then started writing like mad.

And here's the result! Enjoy.

(Special thanks, as always, to **summerald** and **Cassandrala** for all their help and beta skills!)

* * *

><p>A choked cry, gasping breaths as he sat up wildly.<p>

_Kíli was standing outside Erebor's Great Gate, on the road between the dwarven stronghold and the kingdom of Dale. He was facing the city of Men just to the south of his beloved home._

_And it was burning._

_A punch of fear rushed hot through his veins. Dale was being rebuilt—it had been nearly a year since the orcs had ransacked the ruined city, full of refugees from Smaug's rampage against Laketown. Bard was Lord of Dale now; and with Thranduil and Fíli's help, the city was being restored at a record pace, its citizens both hardworking and stubborn enough to refuse to leave. _

_Until now, apparently, as both men and dwarves streamed out of the burning city. From where he stood, he could hear them screaming, see Bard's younglings riding out on horses; the lad, Bain, leading his sisters to safety._

_Until a stream of fire arced through the air to engulf the human children in a massive fireball. Kíli blinked in shock, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut._

_His own shout of horror was drowned out by the ravaged scream of Dale's King—of Kíli's friend—Bard, who was struggling uselessly in the arms of two gigantic orcs atop the watch tower facing Erebor. They laughed as they held him over the stone rail, forcing him to watch his son and daughters engulfed in flame, as his fleeing people met a similar end from other fireballs that followed, and rampaging orcs that came from all directions. _

_The bowman-turned-King was still screaming for his children when they stabbed him through the back with a cruel orcish blade and dropped him off the parapet._

Tangled bedsheets, a cry of frustration, and he found himself on the soft rug beneath his bed, on his rump.

"Hurry, hurry," he muttered to himself, disentangling his legs from the cotton, sweat-slicked skin sticking to the fabric.

_The loud, evil laugh had Kíli turning on the spot, unable to move as he took in the sight that met his wide eyes._

_The Great Gate was destroyed—all their hard work in the past months lying in a twisted heap of metal and scraps on the field—the Warriors and the King's Guard were out in force, fighting desperately against a frankly-alarming number of orcs and goblins and trolls. _

_It was the Battle of Five Armies all over again._

Padded feet raced down the stone halls, the sound echoing through the silent cavernous space.

"Fíli!"

_Except it wasn't, he realized. Fíli stood on an overlook above the ruined gate—one he had never seen before. His brother wielded a mithril staff topped with some sort of blue stone, chanting Khuzdul spells that Kíli only barely recognized. But even though he himself had never had a talent for mithril magic, he could recognize its effect on the Mountain—their home was like a living thing in Fíli's hand. The King Under the Mountain directed his staff, speaking words of power and opening up the earth outside Erebor to swallow up entire garrisons of orcs at once. _

_Kíli's heart stuttered painfully in his chest as he became aware of several…presences…beside him. Turning his head, he yelped in alarm when he took them in fully._

_They were Men, he supposed, much taller than he, too short to be elven—but he had never seen Men like them. They were ruddy-skinned and entirely hairless, with white eyes and swirling tattoos running over every bit of their exposed skin. They were pierced in places Kíli had never known one could be pierced—tongues, lips, eyebrows, cheeks—as well as the more expected earlobes and noses. Flowing robes clothed them, and in each of their hands, they held glowing stones; not gems, but carved rune stones that felt evil to even look upon. _

_There were four; two on his right, two on his left. He heard one spit something poisonous-sounding from his bloodless lips, and a blast of sickly-green light left the stone in his hand. _

_He followed its path, his lips opening in a silent scream when he saw where it was headed._

"Fee!" Kíli shouted again, the guards outside his brother's room quietly imploring him to be calm.

"I need my brother!" he just shouted.

_The green blast of magic punched into the stone wall below Fíli's feet, exploding in a storm of rock and debris. The King had evidently seen it coming, as he threw himself to one side of the open balcony, clinging to the sheer rock face until the smoke cleared just a little._

_Kíli sighed in relief._

_But now his nadad was joining the fight, dropping from the overlook in a way that made Kíli's breath catch in his chest before he landed safely atop a pile of rubble. Double swords gleamed in the dull sunlight as Fíli threw himself into a knot of enemies, and his rage-filled battle cry reached Kíli's ears there on the midst of the battlefield:_

"_THIS IS FOR KÍLI, YOU HONORLESS DOGS!"_

_Kíli blinked, confused. He was right here. Right…here…_

_His first clue something was wrong was when he could not move his own legs to carry him to Fíli. _

"_FÍLI!" he tried to shout, but his lips did not move. Terrified, Kíli struggled to move something—anything!—to get his body to respond to his brain's orders. And that's when he heard it._

_A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Kíli's chest, but it wasn't his own. _

Son of Durin, I warned you this day would come.

_Finally his head moved, and Kíli was able to look at himself in the gleaming armor of the Orc Chieftain who stood before him. What he saw brought a silent scream to his unresponsive throat._

_He looked like himself. But where had once been deep brown eyes were now glowing red orbs. His skin had darkened and split, bleeding black light out of his physical form. His dry lips were pale and curled into a smirk that looked nothing like him._

Now you are mine.

_Mahal, please no. It cannot be._

"_It is time!" his voice shouted, but it wasn't his voice at all. It was deeper, rumbling, filled with such hatred and vitriol as Kíli was sure he had never possessed._

_But he understood now. It was not him. Melkor had taken him, and he was now a vessel for the most evil of all creatures Arda had ever seen._

_Mahal._

The door finally burst open and Kíli was met with the wide blue eyes of his _nadad_, his hair askew and unbraided, in naught but his sleeping clothes.

"What is the—Kíli?" Fíli asked.

With a cry of relief, Kíli pressed his forehead to Fíli's in a dwarven embrace. Fíli gripped the back of his head with one hand and his shoulder with the other, breathing slowly to encourage his brother to calm. It worked; after a few moments, Kíli's heaving chest slowed, his trembling eased fractionally, and his fingers loosened themselves from where they were wound tightly in Fíli's tunic.

"Brother," he choked, the sound almost a groan. Everything he'd seen….he had to stop it….

"Kíli," Fíli soothed, a hand around his shoulder leading him into the chamber, shielding his younger brother from prying eyes effortlessly. "Come."

They shuffled into the King's receiving room, Kíli's knees still weak and cold sweat dripping down his temple. Fíli sat him gently in the velvet-plush armchair and tucked a wool blanket around his shoulders, murmuring to him the whole time, the same way he had when Kíli suffered from nightmares as a dwarfling.

The memory made Kíli's heart thump hard against his ribs.

He could not let it happen. He _couldn't_.

"Now," Fíli was saying, settling down on a soft cushion within arm's reach of his _nadadith_. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

"Melkor," Kíli answered without hesitation. If he was going to stop this, he needed to tell Fíli, and quick. His brother's blue eyes hardened.

"What about him?"

"He's been torturing me with dreams for _days_ now, visions of his plans for you, for Ryn, for Mother and Erebor and our friends." Kíli shuddered and ignored the way Fíli's face switched from concern to rage and back again, all in the span of about three seconds.

"Why did you not tell me?" Fíli asked.

Kíli turned imploring eyes on him. "Because there is nothing you can do, and it is my burden to bear-"

"That's where you're wrong, _nadadith_," Fíli's tone brooked no argument. "This burden belongs to us both."

"It matters not," Kíli shook his head quickly—they were getting off subject. "What matters is that tonight, I saw more than he intended."

_Even as Fíli, King Under the Mountain, fell under the onslaught of combined magic and a massive orc horde, Kíli shoved hard at the consciousness attacking his own—this was a dream, a vision of a future the Dark Vala was planning, perhaps, but no more real than the storybooks he'd read as a child. _

_He would not falter. It was time for Melkor to realize Kíli, Son of Dis, Prince of Erebor and Heir of Durin, was not one to be trifled with._

_Filling his mind with thoughts of his loved ones alive and well, Kíli launched his own assault, beating back the vision of his brother's lifeless eyes staring unseeing at the sky outside the Great Gate._

_No._

_That deep chuckle sounded again, cruel and confident._

Oh yes, Prince of Erebor. It is the future.

_**No**__._

_Kíli shoved at the solid dark presence inside his head. To his shock—as well as Melkor's, he guessed—rather than push the darkness back, the dwarf fell into it, yelping in surprise. Visions flashed before his eyes, vivid and so much more real than what he'd just experienced:_

_An alarmingly-large orc giving a report before him. _

"_My Lord, she escaped our ambush. Her brother is stronger than we anticipated, and filthy elven scum arrived just in time to save her."_

_Hot, boiling rage at the idea she slipped through his fingers yet __**again**__._

_An underground cavern, full of orcs and goblins and massive War Beasts. There weren't as many as there had been at the Battle of Five Armies last year, but there were enough._

"_We attack from the North!" his voice shouted to the assembled orc chiefs. "Swiftly and silently, in the dead of night. My Servant is most vulnerable when he sleeps-"_

_**NO!**_

"He is amassing an army in the deep caverns beneath the Grey Mountains," Kíli reported, locking his gaze with his brother's. "I have seen it. They mean to attack us from the north, and at night."

Fíli blinked quickly, a myriad of expressions racing over his face.

"When?" he choked out.

"I do not know," Kíli answered. "But it will be soon."

* * *

><p>Golden light peeked over the canopy of verdant trees, ringed by clouds of pink, purple, and orange. The sky was deep blue between the clouds, and Ryn reflected that it was remarkable to have weather so fine so near the close of the year.<p>

She took it as a sign of the Valar's blessing on her quest.

The quest, she thought, that she really _really_ needed to get back to. She had been resting, healing, growing stronger in Lorien for seven days now-seven days too many, in her estimation. Every moment she rested was a moment Kíli languished still under the influence of the morgul poison.

Blinking hard, Ryn took in the sunrise for a moment longer, the pastime that reminded her so much of her beloved it made her heart ache, before beginning the climb down from the giant oak she had scaled nearly an hour prior. Ryn snorted as she imagined what the Chief Healer would think if he could see her now; bare feet clinging to the rough bark, arm muscles taut as she lowered herself toward the ground, breathing deep and steady.

She felt so alive, he'd probably chastise her for straining herself.

A smile tugged at her lips as she dropped to the ground, cold fall leaves cushioning her landing well enough it didn't hurt at all. Ryn stood slowly, re-orienting herself and turning back toward the Healing Houses to bathe and ready herself for the day.

It was _past_ time for them to start planning the last leg of their journey west. They were to follow the Nimrodel River west, toward the Misty Mountains, then skirt the foothills due south until they reached the northern edge of Fangorn forest. From there, it was a straight shot west to Fjallstadr. According to Elof, there was a narrow valley a league north of Fangorn that would take them straight into the ruined ancient city without having to navigate the mountains themselves, saving them days of travel.

If, she reflected, the goblins that now inhabited the Misty Mountains hadn't gotten there first and settled in the valley.

"Your way will be clear," a soothing voice interrupted her ruminations, and Ryn looked up to see the tallest, most beautiful elven woman she had ever beheld. A spontaneous smile spread itself over her face—she had met the Lady Galadriel briefly the last time she'd been in Lorien mere months ago. She was undoubtedly the most awe-inspiring noble Ryn thought existed in all of Arda; but her regal bearing and undeniable power were balanced with an intrinsic kindness and uncompromising moral code. Ryn curtseyed.

"Lady Galadriel. It is indeed a pleasure to see you again!"

The elven queen gave a nod of respect to the much-smaller woman. "And you, young one. I have heard your journey here was…eventful."

"It was rather _un_eventful until my companion was captured."

"The look on your face indicates you fear the rest of the journey will fare no better." There was a question in the statement, and Ryn looked up at the elf queen.

"Yes," she replied simply. "I fear that."

There was a moment of silence, and Ryn felt fear clench in her belly when Galadriel did not refute the claim. She just kept walking, bare feet barely making a sound in the waking forest.

"You are right to fear it," she finally responded, and this time her voice held a heaviness that bespoke her thousands of years of life. "Your way will be clear, as I said. But all is not well within your company, Deorynn Miriel."

Ryn whirled to face the Queen so fast her neck wrenched. She planted her feet, prompting the elf to stop and face her, and she looked up, holding that piercing blue gaze. "What do you mean?" she asked, fear and anger vying for dominance in her mind.

What did the Lady of the Wood know that she did not?

"Your human friend," Galadriel responded without hesitation. "He is….unwell."

Ryn blinked. "He has seemed out of sorts lately, but I attributed it to his recent captivity."

"Yes."

"Are you saying there is more going on with him than that?"

Galadriel tilted her head. "No, I believe his current trouble stems from his time with the orcs." She appeared to be thinking, so Ryn did not interrupt. "I cannot discern the true nature of it, but an enchantment lies upon him. I do not know why or for what purpose this spell was laid, but I can tell you this; it was not for your benefit, nor his."

Ryn shuddered. It was not so far out of the realm of possibility that Elof had been the victim of some sort of enchantment while in captivity—Melkor employed all kinds of folk, after all, and he seemed to have a preference for those who could wield magic.

"Can you help him?" The words were out of her mouth before she could think properly about them; but she held Galadriel's eyes, though she blushed fiercely. The Lady of the Wood smiled then, a dazzling look that made Ryn wonder how evil could really exist at all in the same world as she.

"Perhaps, young one. I would certainly be willing to attempt it."


End file.
